


It is what it is, says love

by Gry_Gatevold



Series: Better not (The Life and Tries of Marcus Flint) [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (ugly as in "true to the books" please don't hate me for calling him ugly), Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Don't you worry, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Homophobia, Humor, I dug myself a hole there didn't I, Just letting his inner beauty shine, M/M, Marcus is still ugly, Quidditch, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, The Quidditch Pitch: The Changing Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-17 06:09:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 28,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14826818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gry_Gatevold/pseuds/Gry_Gatevold
Summary: Remember when you were seventeen? The excitement of adulthood, the fear of final exams, the confusing new soulmate-markings. Will I ever work in the ministry of magic as my father wants me to? Will I be with my soulmate forever? Will Professor McGonagall fail me in transfigurations? Aah, yes, that's seventeen.Unlike us giggly girls, Marcus Flint thought he would never have those mundane soulmate problems. Soulmates are for sissies like Adrian, not for him. He never even thinks about the scrawl on his shoulder. Just once in a while, maybe. But not because he's interested. Definitely not.





	1. IT IS MADNESS, SAYS REASON

**Author's Note:**

> Rating for later chapters (Chapter 8, to be exact).  
> Non beta-ed.
> 
> It's going to be about 27.000 words, just fyi.  
> 

He woke up from a dull pain on his shoulder, like a stick etching across his skin. Marcus was still half asleep and subconsciously scratching the spot when it suddenly hit him. He jolted up, already stumbling to the bathroom when he remembered to get a shirt. Frantically searching around his trunk he fished something remotely clean out, hurrying as fast out of the room as possible.

Inside the bathroom, he locked the door with his wand and then, more slowly, faced the big mirror behind the sinks. It was almost invisible from the front. Marcus could only make out three letters: **GIT** , all in caps. Not off to a great start, then. He turned halfway around, looking over his shoulder to read the rest. **STUPID GIT**. Didn’t get any better.  
Marcus clamped down on his jaw and stared at the two words.

He was seventeen and his supposed soulmate hated him. What did he expect? Not that, a small voice inside his head stated.

After a good five minutes, he heard a rattle at the doorknob and a disgruntled Higgs demanding to be let in. “What are you doing in there, wanking?”, sneered Higgs. Marcus groaned: “Fuck off, Terrence!”, and when the rattling didn’t stop, “Just give me five minutes!”. He could hear the other boy trail off, swearing at him.

Sighing deeply, he shrugged and put on the shirt, not even bothering with a morning shower. When he exited the bathroom, Higgs shoved him out of the way and slammed the door. Marcus strolled back to his bed, still deep in thought and only now noticed the pile of presents some house-elf must have brought during the night.  
Pushing the snarky words of his soulmate out of his mind he sat on the covers, opening the first letter that came with a small package in pretty silver gift wrap. It was from his parents, full of good wishes and even more concerns about his future.  
Marcus tossed it aside, not without a dull sinking feeling in his stomach, and ripped open the package. Inside lay an intricately made watch, complete with his family’s symbol – two boars butting heads in a vicious fight – embossed on the side. He reluctantly put it on his wrist, feeling his parents’ expectations in the heavy weight.

The other presents were easier to enjoy. His Quidditch Team had bought him a broom kit, although from the looks of it, Malfoy hadn’t bothered to sign the accompanying card himself. There was a whimsical looking box of cupcakes from Adrian Pucey, a tradition between the two since they had snuck out of the Flints’ residence ten years ago to explore the muggle village. They had found a bakery with exactly those cupcakes and although Marcus had made a snide remark about the ridiculously colourful pastries and how stupid they were, Adrian had sensed his longing for something so normal, unpretentious, fun. He now hid the box in his trunk, but not without a smile on his face. Adrian really wasn’t a typical Slytherin.

The last, carelessly wrapped gift contained a single huge fang. A short letter was written on the inside of the packaging:

_“A Hebridean Black lost this when he tried to bite my head off and instead ran into a wall. Reminded me of you in your first ever Quidditch Match. Hope you’re doing alright? Did it show? Have a great birthday, write me sometime, Charlie”_

He weighed the heavy fang in his hand, then wrapped it up again and hid it together with the cupcakes. He normally enjoyed those little letters from Charlie Weasley, who had become some sort of friend to him after that disastrous first Quidditch Match, when he had found Marcus angrily crying in the Hospital Wing. Since Marcus didn’t yet know any good hexes and couldn’t punch him due to his injuries, Charlie had managed to break through Marcus’ Slytherin pride and comforted him. And even though he would never allow himself to admit it, having someone outside his family and house to talk to had helped him a lot those last years. Now however, the letter left his stomach in twists, because of course ever the Gryffindor, Charlie had asked him about the mark.

He urged himself to forget it and get going.

 

  
When he arrived in the Great Hall to have breakfast he squared his shoulders and strode over to the Slytherin table, carefully not looking around the assembled students to see if he somehow could make out his soulmate among them. Adrian had saved him a seat but was deep in conversation with Blaise Zabini and Marcus was glad he could avoid the attention.

The whole Soulmate thing was a tricky topic. Everyone knew that once you turned seventeen, the markings appeared somewhere on your body. Given that you had already met your soulmate. And that you had one.

In theory, the words would appear as soon as you first interacted with your supposed other half, but since Hogwarts was full of hundreds of hormonal teenagers that were hard to control even without the gossip about potential soulmate pairings, the teachers had put very effective glamours on everyone so they didn’t show until the students came of age. Every house handled the markings differently.

The Hufflepuffs always shared them with their peers and the whole house assisted in matchmaking once they figured out – together, of course – who had to be led to their happiness. _Fucking hell, I hope it’s not a Hufflepuff,_ Marcus thought gloomily while shoving sausages into his mouth. Then everybody would know sooner or later. And they would be relentless about making the couple happen. _But no Hufflepuff would ever think of anyone as a stupid git, they are way to fucking decent._ The thought calmed Marcus down.

Maybe it was a Ravenclaw? They almost never made a big deal out of the soulmate thing. Since there were quite a lot of stories about people having only platonic soulmates or disregarding them completely and choosing someone else, the Ravenclaws probably found the matter not as pressing. Not as pressing as their studies or magical research at least. But he knew nobody at Ravenclaw well enough to make such a lasting impression. Cho Chang perhaps, considering he once told her to _“go back where she came from”_ after losing to Ravenclaw in Quidditch. Elegant, dainty little Cho Chang his Soulmate? He scoffed into his plate at the idea of this unlikely pairing.

That left Gryffindor and Slytherin. Some Gryffindor Soulmates were known by the whole school but mostly they kept it to themselves and their peers. For a bunch of brainless jocks and wannabe-heroes, they were not very tolerant of odd pairings and would never forget to make jokes about the unfortunately marked. Potter would have a hard time once he turned seventeen, with everyone trying to find out who his other half was. _I hope his markings appear right on his forehead,_ Marcus thought to himself.

Nobody could predict where they would eventually show up since it didn’t really follow a logical pattern. Marcus guessed he was rather lucky, for a shoulder wasn’t very hard to conceal in this hemisphere. Even the showers after Quidditch Practice wouldn’t become a problem, due to the Slytherin way of dealing with the Soulmate Thing.

He really hoped it was a Slytherin. They never talked about the markings, not even with their friends. For one, just like Gryffindors, Slytherins would never forget to make spiteful comments about it forever. And for another, the whole thing was widely disregarded anyways. All Slytherins from old, pureblood families like Marcus’ had been taught that partnership and marriage was about status and tradition more than love.

Of course there were weirdos like Adrian, who wanted to at least give the soulmate thing a shot, but well…Adrian was not really a Slytherin in those regards. Hopeless romantic, some would it call. Daft as a bush, Marcus called it.

 

After breakfast Marcus left the Great Hall, trailing behind Adrian and Terrence, to go to his first class. Transfigurations. Friday really had all his most hated subjects in store to ruin the day. He sat during McGonagalls sermon, doodling Quidditch strategies on his parchment, from time to time absentmindedly scratching the mark on his shoulder.

He wondered if it had changed yet and if he would feel it? Suddenly he noticed Adrian eyeing him suspiciously from the side, raising an eyebrow at the movement. Guiltily Marcus pulled his hand back. “Is it…your marking?”, Adrian whispered. They sat in the front row, because Adrian thought it might help Marcus get better grades. Get passable grades at least. This was the first time Marcus was thankful for the placing, it meaning that Adrian couldn’t really talk.

“Just take your notes and mind your own business”, he hissed under his breath. Adrian turned back to his parchment, but not without a grin. This was not over, Marcus knew how relentless Pucey could be. The rest of the hour was spent practicing human transfigurations spells – changing their own hair colour. Marcus was so frustrated at the end, not even achieving a slight shift from his usual black hair, he got up before anyone else and stomped out of the classroom. He made a detour to an upper corridor bathroom to not run into someone – _Adrian_ – and got into an empty stall. Why was he so daft when it came to transfigurations? He just never got the hang of it, no matter how hard he tried. True, he wasn’t really good at any class, especially the less practical ones, but failing that consistently? He groaned and buried his face in his hands. Maybe Marcus’ soulmate was right, he _was_ a stupid git. Or at least stupid.

His watch vibrated, reminding him of the next class. He was about to unlock the stall when he heard someone enter the bathroom. Another pair of footsteps followed. Marcus left his hand hovering over the door handle and listened. “What do you think you’re doing, Oliver? Why did you miss Potions? You know I should report you for that!”

“Shut it Percy, I told you I just forgot!” Great. Wood and the annoying Weasel. He still didn’t move. “Oliver, that is not acceptable! I had to lie to Professor Snape you were in the Hospital Wing so he didn’t take any points from Gryffindor. You didn’t just forget!”, Weasley insisted. “Fine”, snarled Wood, “don’t lie then! You’re just concerned me losing points makes you look bad, anyways.” At that, the other boy turned on his heels and pounded out the bathroom. The door shut with a bang and silence fell. What now? Marcus didn’t dare to breathe now everything was quiet. Why couldn’t Wood just leave? Or go into a stall? The watch on his wrist now vibrated harder and he closed his hand around it, fearing it would ring next. But it seemed as if Wood was just standing at the sinks, not doing anything besides growl every now and then.

He couldn’t stay in the stall any longer. Wood would know that he heard the whole conversation, _but who cares,_ thought Marcus. It might actually be useful to have this over him someday. And if Wood decided to attack him, well, then at least he could let out his frustration on someone.

Resolutely turning the lock, he stepped out. He wanted to immediately turn to the bathroom door -  it really was rather late and he couldn’t afford a confrontation – but looked up for just a second. Wood was standing at the middle sink, hands placed on the counter, grimly looking at his own face in the mirror. Startled by the sound behind him, he raised his gaze and locked eyes with Marcus. Marcus froze. They stared at each other, not knowing what to do, way too vulnerable in this rather private situation. “The hell are you doing here?”, Wood broke the tension with a snap. Rallied up by his tone, Marcus barked: “What do you think I’m doing here, Wood? Spying on your petty life? Fucking asshole.” And just for good measure, he shoved his shoulder hard into the Gryffindor on the way out.

Three flights of stairs later, rushing over the grounds towards the greenhouses, he was still agitated by the encounter. He mumbled some half-hearted excuse towards Professor Sprout and joined Higgs at the planting station.

The day dragged on, lunch, History of Magic, Divination. The only thing that kept him going was the prospect of the evening Quidditch Practice. He thought about Wood again. Why did he miss Potions? He didn’t know anything about the git, except that he was obsessed with Quidditch. Maybe even more so than Marcus. And then he remembered that there was a rumor going around that holy Harry Potter himself had joined the Gryffindor Team. It probably was something about that. They would have to spy on the other team to find out more, because Marcus would not let them win their first match. 

 

After training, he walked back to the castle with his teammates, sweaty but pleased with the results. He decided to do his homework on the weekend and go to bed early.

Twenty minutes later he stepped out of the hot shower and brushed his teeth, when he noticed something odd. His gaze wandering over his shoulder, he couldn’t read **GIT** anymore. The words had changed! _Oh god, what is it now,_ he thought, with a sinking feeling in his stomach. He turned around. **WHY HIM** was written there, still all caps, still in those big, deep black letters. Was that better or worse? And what did it mean? Did his soulmate know about the connection? Marcus hadn’t thought about that before. But sure, if the other one was already seventeen they had a matching mark. _What does it say?_ , he wondered. _And did it change today, too?_ Did he hate the other as well? That was the downside to the Slytherin tradition of not talking about the markings, he didn’t know squat about the magic behind them.

Putting his shirt back on – he couldn’t sleep with only boxers any more, that was for sure – he went to his bed and threw himself on top of it.

Thank god this day was over.


	2. IT IS UNHAPPINESS, SAYS CAUTION

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh god, I messed up. Mixed up the years, sorry. Will sleep now, correct later.

The next weeks were spent mostly with homework and Quidditch Practice. Homework, because his parents sent weekly reminders that he had to pass his N.E.W.T.s next year to get a post at the ministry, Quidditch to forget said reminders.

His team was doing fine, although Terrence seemed to be way too focused on showing off rather than efficiently catching the snitch. That could become a problem, because the fucking boy wonder Wood had recruited – the spying was paying off – was good. Just a first year, but still.

About a week before the match, another thing to worry him showed up: His marking changed again. This time, he noticed it happening, an uncomfortable tingling sensation during History of Magic. He covered it with his hand, paranoid that it was visible shifting under his cloak and promptly attracted Pucey’s attention. _Stop looking or I’ll rip your face off,_ he thought and gave his desk partner a look threatening exactly that. Since none of his facial expressions – or verbal or physical expressions – were very subtle, it worked. But he knew he couldn’t fend him off forever. Maybe he actually had to rip his face off. After the match.

Trying not to think about the marking he got through the day, paying even less attention to the Professors as usual. _Just make it to your dorm_ , he thought desperately. He wouldn’t be one of those nutters who frantically ran to the bathroom whenever the writing changed. “Play Gobstones?”, Adrian asked when they returned to their common room after dinner. Knowing it would be even more suspicious to go to bed this early, he grumpily answered: “Yeah alright, just taking a piss. You bring the set, don’ want to search for mine.”

And without waiting for confirmation, he took off up the stairs, taking two steps at once as soon as he was out of sight.

 **GONNA END HIM**. He stared at the words. Now the other was actually threatening him? How on earth could that be his soulmate? Something must have gone wrong. That just couldn’t be. Or was it normal? Maybe he did have to talk about it with Pucey. Not about _his_ markings, but about the whole thing. Just to understand it. Even though it was stupid anyways.

When he came back down, Adrian had already set up the game. They played in relative silence for over an hour, with Pucey winning almost every time. Marcus was feeling too nervous and awkward to be a sore loser as per usual. What was Pucey waiting for? _Just spit it out so it’s over,_ he thought. If the other Slytherin was waiting for him to bring it up, they could sit there forever. It was another twenty minutes later when Pucey finally cleared his throat with a conspiratorial look at Marcus. Marcus braced himself: _You have to talk about it, don’t snap, don’t hit him, don’t hit him!_

“So…you got your marking, hm?”, Adrian said, grinning widely. _Don’t hit him!_ Marcus gave a noncommittal nod and a grunt while he set the gobstones up again. “What does it say?”, his opponent inquired. “None of your fucking business!”, Marcus snarled, almost brushing the stones off the table. Adrian only chuckled: “That bad, hm? But alright, if you don’t want to talk about it…” Silence fell again. Why did he have to flip so easily? Now he had to bring it up. _Just do it, ask!,_ he urged himself. He had to. Just to be able to put the whole thing behind him. No distractions for the upcoming match.

“Do you have one? A marking, I mean.”, he tried in a nicer tone. Maybe that only sounded weird, because after a lifetime of yelling and sneering and shoving, this was the first time Pucey looked actually worried. After a minute or so, he seemed to pull himself together. “Yeah, ‘course I do. You want to see it?”, he asked, attempting to pull up his cloak. “No, Pucey, for fucks sake, put that thing down!”, spluttered Marcus, “just…tell me. What does it say?” “Sweet cheeks”

The tension broke when Marcus snorted out: “Sweet cheeks? Heavens, that’s worse than mine!” Pucey looked inquiringly at him and Marcus noticed that again, he had said too much. Which was really something, considering that he didn’t talk a lot at all. He should stick to that. But for once in his life, his mate let it go uncommented and instead said: “I don’t know who it is, though. Doesn’t help that we aren’t supposed to talk about it.” He looked around the common room as if hoping someone would declare their love for Adrian Pucey’s sweet cheeks then and there.

“But you think it’s a Slytherin?”, Marcus asked. The other boy looked down at his feet and blushed: “Actually – no. I mean, shouldn’t I know it? And I don’t feel anything towards any of the girls we know.” Marcus thought about that. Should he feel anything towards his soulmate? “Mine hates me”, he admitted. “What? How? Who is it?” Saying too much seemed to be the theme of this evening, so – groaning – he just went with it: “I don’t know who it is. But my marking…It’s just mean things.” Adrian snickered: “Maybe they show affection the way you do.” He stopped immediately though, because Malfoy had looked over to them eager to listen to their conversation.

“I’m just gonna stop looking at it. It’s bullshit anyways.” “If you say so…”

He would stop. It was enough that his parents were meddling with his life, he didn’t need the universe to join in as well. Especially since both were telling him that he wasn’t good enough.

 

He immersed himself into Quidditch, coming up with new tactics he hoped would floor the Gryffindors. They were still secretly watching their opponents’ training, hoping it would give them the edge, until one evening, a rough voice called his name: “Oy, Flint!” He had been on his way into the common room after dinner, just crossing the entrance hall, and jerked around. Oliver Wood was standing a couple feet away, dragging a disheveled Bletchley on his collar behind him.

“The fuck, Wood? Let go of my keeper!”, Marcus yelled. The Gryffindor shoved Bletchley forward and he tumbled into Marcus. Then he took a large step forward, coming almost nose to nose with Marcus: “Then don’t send your players to spy on our practice, understand?”, he hissed. It was frightening, the inflated nostrils, the furrowed brows, the eyes glistening with fury. Marcus resisted the urge to take a step back.

But, other than standing his ground – he had no comeback. Pointing out that they had recruited Potter against the tradition to never pick first years seemed petty even for Slytherin standards. Especially since sneaking behind the ranks with omnioculars to watch their training was already about as petty as one could get. He knew that Wood would never do something like that. On the other hand, he really didn’t want to lose face in front of Bletchley, who still stood by his side, sulking. “Fine”, he snarled after what had to be at least a minute, “we can still beat you with our hands tied. Just wanted to give you something to blame it on.” Wood just scoffed, then turned around and stomped away.

“Sorry man, I was so focused on the snitch, didn’t notice the Weasels cornering me”, said Bletchley on their way to the dungeons. Marcus didn’t answer. He was wondering why he hadn’t just punched the Gryffindor in the nose. It was his default reaction to being yelled at. Or made fun of. Or looked at in a weird way. But he appreciated having Wood as an opponent, one worthy his time and effort. He was the one person Marcus was actually seeing eye to eye, at least on the Quidditch pitch.

 

The day of the match dawned bright and cold.

Marcus didn’t talk much during breakfast, just eating his toast and blocking out the noises. It was vital for them to win. The Slytherins were used to holding the House Cup at the end of the year and nobody would ever forgive him if he was failing to get it. Sure, he already had a great track record, this being his second year of captaincy. But the possibility of losing to the Gryffindors, to Wood, no, that could not happen.

After changing into their green Quidditch robes, Marcus assembled his team around him. Not being one for big words, he just gave them last instructions: “Bletchley, don’t let them fool you, circle all three hoops. You two,” he looked at his beaters, “don’t foul too soon, but if necessary just hit all of them. And get the Weasels off our tails. Pucey, no distractions today! Score as often as you can. Just follow my lead. And Higgs…the Potter boy is small and fast. And he has a Nimbus 2000. If he’s in front of you block him and chase the snitch later. Okay, let’s go.”

The Gryffindors were already standing in front of Madame Hooch, scarlet robes fluttering in the chilly winds. “Now, I want a nice fair game, all of you”, the referee demanded as they gathered in the middle of the pitch. She was looking at him, as usual. Marcus growled and seized Oliver Wood’s outstretched hand. He clutched it as hard as he could, but the other captain didn’t flinch. Marcus looked up into the determined face and - following a sudden urge to make things right before the game - loosened his grip and gave him a curt nod. Fair game. Eye to eye.

His noble resolution not to resort to fouls and trickery lasted about five minutes. It took one derisive grin from Wood after he blocked Marcus’ first attempt to score and the usual agenda was back on. He hated being mocked. _I’ll show you_ , Marcus thought while catching up to Pucey. At that moment, Pucey – the fucking idiot, why couldn’t he focus for once – dropped his quaffle as the tiny golden snitch whizzed past him.

Marcus saw Potter speeding up, towards him, with Higgs at his heels. Where were his beaters? And why did Higgs try to catch the snitch when he could just foul Potter? Gritting his teeth, he accelerated his own broom. The Gryffindor seeker did not see him until it was too late. With a loud _wham_ , Marcus crashed into the Nimbus. The boy was a first year and exceptionally scrawny, but the impact still sent Marcus hurling down several feet.

When he had finally steadied himself again, a furious Madame Hooch was all up in his face. Well, nothing she hadn’t expected. He was just giving her what she wanted so everyone could hate on the Slytherins and pity poor little boy wonder. She awarded the Gryffindors a free pass and Bletchley managed to miss the quaffle by inches.

It was looking bleak for them. Marcus threw himself into the game again just to have a bludger hit him in the face three minutes later. Blood streaming out of his nose, in full rage mode, he didn’t notice Potter struggling with a bucking broom on the other end of the pitch. Marcus hurried towards the Gryffindor goal posts, fainted a straight shot while aiming for the right hoop – but Wood didn’t even try to block him. It was too late to stop and acknowledge this odd behaviour and even so – what did he care? He was here to score and if the Gryffindor keeper did a lousy job guarding, all the better. He scored five more goals with no one noticing it, before anything else happened.

Then, shocked by the changing expression on Wood’s face, he turned around to see a red figure spitting something tiny and golden into his hands. They had lost.

“He didn’t catch it, he nearly swallowed it”, Marcus shouted twenty minutes later. Wood looked unimpressed: “He didn’t break any rules, so come off it.” Marcus scowled menacingly and the other boy hissed under his breath: “Unlike you, you foul git. Crashing into him, really? And I thought you were playing fair.” Marcus refrained from hitting him, mainly because he couldn’t afford any more detention. Instead he thoroughly smashed the locker rooms once everyone else had left.

 

He awoke the next day, feeling the now familiar tingling sensation on his shoulder. Not at all eager to read his new marking, Marcus trudged into the bathroom and locked the door. His nose looked okay, at least not broken, but there was still some dried blood on his chin. Oh Merlin, and he smelled. _Should have showered before I demolished the changing rooms,_ he thought glumly while pulling the shirt over his head. He turned halfway to catch sight of the bulky letters: **ALWAYS ANGRY**.

Well, _now_ he was. It was so not true! While the hot water calmed his sore muscles, he still pondered over the injustice. Sure, he had a short fuse. And yes, he could come off as brooding or slightly terrifying, but he wasn’t _always angry_. Or maybe he was? Not coming to any conclusion, he left his dorms, definitely angry.

 

After monitoring his mood carefully for a month - like a fucking Ravenclaw – he wasn’t really surprised to be greeted by the fact that he was, indeed, always angry.

As his last resort, he had tried talking to Pucey. “Do you think…I mean, do I seem…more angry to you? Than usual?”, he had asked in a feigned casual tone. Adrian had looked up from his transfigurations homework, the same that had given Marcus a maddening headache in the last hour. “What? Why do you ask?”, Adrian had asked. “Do I or do I not, just answer the fucking question.” But the other boy had still looked at him inquiringly and he’d hesitantly added: “It says so on the marking.” “Well, yeah, I guess you do. I mean, it was always your style, kind of, but lately…yeah, seems more real.”, Adrian had finally admitted.

Marcus had knocked his head on the table. Great. “Maybe it’s because of your soul –“, Pucey had started again, at which point Marcus had given up. On asking for help and on his friendship with Adrian.

Now however, he looked down on the finished letter he was about to send:

_“Hey Charlie,_

_Thanks for the fang. Must have been one monstrous dragon. I hope everything's fine in Romania? Everything normal here, although lately I think I’m a little stressed. I don’t know why though, it’s just that I’m angry all the time. Maybe it’s my parents, they want me to start working at the ministry after school. Or that we lost our first match against Gryffindor. And now some kind of monster is loose in the castle and they think about cancelling the games altogether. And my marking is stupid, too. But the whole soulmate system is crap anyways, so I don’t really care. Any ideas? Has this ever happened to you?_

_Don’t let the dragons grill you, Marcus”_

It had taken him a good part of the afternoon crafting the letter. Once he had to throw his attempt away because it almost sounded like a Hufflepuff’s, but now satisfied, he rolled the scroll up and headed towards the owlery.

 

They actually cancelled Quidditch. It was minutes before the match Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff when McGonagall practically ran onto the pitch and told them to go inside again. Now he had nothing to look forward to other than exams.

 

The exams were cancelled. It was the first time in months his stomach made a jolt of happiness. Marcus was somehow relieved that the monster was dead, not because he really cared for the muggleborns, but because they would be able to play Quidditch again next year. He also didn’t like Malfoy in the cheery mood he had been in since it started. Malfoy really was a stupid git.

 

Summer break started, with Marcus back in the family residence and with no company but his parents.

“Got lucky that the exams were cancelled, didn’t you?”, his father asked during dinner on the first evening. “Guess so.”, mumbled Marcus. “I hope you take that chance and study hard next year! It’s your N.E.W.T.s!” Marcus suppressed a shrug and said: “I know. Ministry. We’ve been over this.” “What classes did you choose, Marcus dear?”, interjected his mother before Flint sr. could remind Marcus of his tone. Trying his best not to sound annoyed, Marcus answered: “Care of Magical Creatures, Herbology, Potions and Transfigurations.”

“What, you want to become a gardener? I told you to take Arithmancy! Or at least charms!” Yes, his father had told him a million times while he had told his father a million times that he was rubbish at the theoretical subjects. Wasn’t it enough to endure two years of transfigurations just to please him? “Royston, calm down. As long as he scores good marks, it will work just fine. And he’s working hard, aren’t you dear? Cutting back on extracurricular activities, studying…”

What a great summer to look forward to.

Two weeks later, Adrian arrived to stay with them for a couple of days “to help me with transfigurations.” He had folded, not being mad at Pucey anymore because he really needed to get out.

They spent their days playing Quidditch in the gardens or – when his father was home – studying in the salon. It did not make the shared meals any less horrible.

“So Adrian, your parents are telling me you want to work at Gringotts after school?”, his mother inquired after twenty minutes of silently eating soup. “Yes, Mrs. Flint, I’m good with numbers so I thought I’d give it a try. They always need human accountants to help with muggle interaction.” Flint sr. gave a derisive huff. _Here we go_ , Marcus thought. “Didn’t think a pureblood like yourself would desire such – interactions. Do your parents condone these plans?” “Yeah, they’re okay with it. And I think purebloods are more than willing to make some money off the muggles, aren’t they?” Adrian’s voice was polite, so Flint sr. didn’t notice the sarcasm.

“Well, there are worse things in the world”, Marcus’ mother tried to rescue the situation, “speaking of: I heard that the Greengrass’ son is having relations with a _man_. Can you imagine?” Awesome, she had managed to actually make it worse. _At least it’s not about me_ , Marcus thought. “Really? Talfryn? Now they can kiss their status as one of the Sacred 28 goodbye!” Marcus’ father looked satisfied. “And they don’t put an end to this? No control over their children, I’ve always told you. About the boy - I knew he looked crooked, but that he’s a sissy…” “Yes”, Marcus’ mother chimed in, voice turning into a conspiratorial whisper, “and you know why? It’s his _soulmate_. A muggleborn as well. Poor family.”

They went on about the downfall of wizarding society until after dessert. Marcus was rather quiet, not talking unless it was necessary and just nodding here and there. He could feel Adrian’s gaze.

When Marcus' mother finally excused them, they brushed their teeth and went to bed. Dark thoughts were racing through Marcus’ brain. He had never even thought about the possibility that his soulmate was male. But it couldn’t be, right? After all, he wasn’t gay.

It was only after they extinguished the lights that he dared to share these fears: “What would you do? I mean, if the marking…if your soulmate was a guy?” Adrians voice sounded from the mattress on the floor: “Don’t know. Pretty sure I’m not gay, you know? But if I had to guess – I’d go for it, probably. The universe knows what it’s doing.” Not even a hint of Slytherin in that boy. “What, just do it with a guy? Are you mental? What would your parents say?” “They’re chill and they trust the whole soulmate thing. But I bet _your_ parents would never let me talk to you again.”, Adrian chuckled. “Probably”, grunted Marcus, “but they can’t control everything. Not that they don’t try, though.” “Nice to have your back, Marcus. I’ll tell you if I ever desire a cock.”

Marcus threw a pillow at the shadowy figure: “Please never do.”


	3. IT IS STUPID, SAYS MARCUS

 

 

He was so thankful to be back at Hogwarts the first weeks practically flew by.

Apart from one unfortunate evening, when he had to tell Higgs that he would be replaced as seeker by Draco Malfoy, Marcus thoroughly enjoyed himself. “By Malfoy? Are you mental?”, Higgs had shouted. “Come on Terrence, you know why I’m doing it. We need the brooms his father is donating to the team.” Higgs hit him with a derisive laugh: “Donated my arse. That’s fucking bribery. Have fun with the git, we’ll see where it gets you.” And stalking away, he’d added: “You know, I always thought you are a stand-up guy. Stupid, reckless, an asshole – sure. But sinking that low…?”

Malfoy really was a git, nobody had to tell him that. He was also a passable seeker and with the seven Nimbus 2001, they would have a good chance winning their first match. If Marcus had to choose between his friendship with Terrence look-how-hot-I-am Higgs and winning against the Gryffindors - well, Higgs wasn't a good friend anyways. And they just _had_ to win.

 

They did not win their first match.

“It was right in front of your eyes! You fucking idiot!”

Malfoy stood in front of Marcus, shoulders raised but jaw locked and stared at him defiantly. After all their practice it was his seeker’s fucking hubris that cost them the win. He wanted to punch him, punch someone or something to let out his anger, but getting into a fight with Malfoy was a bad idea. They needed the brooms Lucius had given them.

He had to get out of there. Maybe trashing the locker rooms again would help, so he turned around to storm off the pitch, just to nearly step into Wood. The victorious captain had a wide grin on his face, his team behind him, all of them hugging and cheering. All except Wood. He seemed to have waited for Flint, because he stretched out his hand in a jovial gesture, attempting perhaps a handshake to congratulate them on a good match. It was too much for Marcus.

All his rage, barely contained in clenched fists, streamed out of him: “Go to hell, you fucking faggot!”

He didn’t think it would make a big impact, because they insulted each other all the time and Wood was way too controlled to let Marcus trigger him. But obviously it did. Wood froze for just one second, mouth open, totally taken aback. And then his face twisted into a fury Marcus had never seen on him before. He drew back the outstretched arm and punched it in his surprised opponent’s face. Everybody turned around to look at them.

Marcus grabbed Wood’s collar and shoved him back: “What the hell is wrong with you?” Wood looked like he wasn’t done fighting yet, so Marcus beat him to it by landing a fist on his jaw. Wood stumbled backwards, but while falling, grabbed the hand still on his collar and yanked Marcus with him. They rolled around on the muddy grass, wrestling and punching. “Never…say…again”, panted Wood while pulling Marcus’ arm off his neck to get out of the headlock he was now in.

The two boys hadn’t noticed the growing crowd around them until a powerful spell forced them apart. Professor Snape was towering over, wand out, with Madame Hooch and Professor McGonagall in tow. The head of Gryffindor house looked stern, her mouth only a thin line when she addressed Wood: “You are bleeding, Mr. Wood. And I think your arm is broken. What on earth were you thinking? Hospital wing, now. No, don’t get up”, she added when Wood tried to stand up and winced, “I’ll conjure a stretcher.” And she levitated the keeper onto it. “Severus, you’ll take care of Mr. Flint, I presume?” She left with the stretcher hovering by her side.

“Are you hurt?”, Snape asked Marcus. Still on the floor, the Slytherin defiantly shook his head and like Wood, made to get up. And like Wood, failed miserably. Something in his chest gave a sharp sting whenever he tried to move. “Looks like you have broken some ribs”, Snape said, kneeling down beside him, examining the torn robes. Another stretcher appeared out of thin air and Marcus felt himself being lifted onto it. He could see the whole school staring at him and whispering as they made their way up to the castle.

Marcus groaned and closed his eyes. How did this get so out of control? Sure, he had his fair share of fist fights, but Wood? Never would he have expected the respectable Gryffindor captain to lash out like this. Marcus felt the warmth of the fireplaces once they arrived at the entrance hall. Still silent, Snape hovered the stretcher up the stairs and into the hospital wing.

Madam Pomfrey hurried over to them: “That’s the second one now, isn’t it? Stupid boys.” She lifted her wand and levitated Marcus into one of the beds. Next to Wood, of course. Marcus pressed his lips together – crossing his arms didn’t work because of the pain – and refused to say a word. “I’ll leave you to it. And, Mr. Flint”, Snape added, already at the door, “Thirty points will be taken from Slytherin. We’ll talk about your captaincy once you’re back. Come to my office then.” Marcus just stared at the now closed door.

For the next thirty minutes, while Madam Pomfrey was bustling around, examining his ribs more closely and at last giving him a cup of Skele-Gro, his mind was in a state of shock. The thirty points alone were bad news. Snape would inform his parents about the fight and they'd probably send a howler, maybe even revoke his permission to go to Hogsmeade. But the possibility of losing captaincy? Quidditch was the only thing he liked about school. Or the only thing he liked - period. And the person responsible for all of it lay just one bed away, gazing at the ceiling with heavy bandages around his head.

Marcus didn’t even remember punching Wood in the head.

His fits of anger had always been bad. He couldn’t even explain to himself where they came from. The first time he could recall being that black-out-furious was at his fourth birthday. His parents had invited all their boring most noble relatives and they drank tea in the gardens. Marcus was forced to wear fancy dress robes which he found scratchy and uncomfortable. After a while he had snuck out to the pond just studying the beetles and fishes. He had come across a curious little lizard with tiny horns. It was sunbathing on a warm stone and lazily trying to catch flies by shooting flames at them. Marcus was fascinated by the creature.

He had run to his parents, desperate to share his amazing discovery. But they hadn’t listened. “Where have you been, Marcus? Look at you, all dirty. Come sit here with Aunt Elladora.”, his mother was talking over him, derogatively ogling the stains on his robes. “But mo-oom, the lizard-“, he had tried. She was already talking to the adults again. His father had given him a warning look and motioned at him to sit still.

It was too much for four-year-old Marcus. He had sat there, powerless and defeated while his parents showed him off to some boring old people, praising his studies – which he hated – and not taking notice of his face becoming redder and redder. Half an hour later he was kneeling on the floor, punching every inch of his mother’s leg he could reach. The guests were ushered out to not witness the scene and Marcus was sent to bed without a story.

By the next day, the lizard was gone and Marcus had learned that talking would get him nowhere. Now, thirteen years later, he didn’t even try it anymore.

Night fell over the grounds. Madam Pomfrey brought them a sleeping potion “to get through the night. Re-growing bones is no fun, you’re in for painful healing process.” Then she extinguished most of the lights and left for her chambers. Marcus did not drink the potion. Wood was a Gryffindor and typically not one to hex others while they were sleeping, but who knew? A small part of Marcus really needed the pain, too. So he lay there motionless, staring at the flickering light coming from the small fire in the hearth.

Suddenly – another hour had passed by in complete silence – he heard Wood’s raspy voice coming from his left: “Why did you say that?” He sounded bitter and Marcus was about to give a snide remark, but a sad, desperate undertone made him think better of it. He turned his head to the other boy. Woods face was dimly lit by the fire. Big, glazed eyes were directed at Marcus.

“We insult each other all the time, Wood. Why wouldn’t I do it today?” His voice was low from not using it for a while and he feared that the annoyed tone was lost in it. Woods expression turned dark, as if something had shut down inside. “Yeah, guess I should've expected a Slytherin to hit below the belt. My bad. Won’t happen again.” He sounded only bitter now. “Below the belt? The fuck are you on about? I just said something stupid to make you mad! Why did you – wait, but you are not really – are you?”

Wood looked at him with a raised eyebrow: “Am I what? A fucking faggot? Well, you had to be right sometimes.” “Not a – faggot. I mean”, Marcus stammered, “gay?” He was so flustered by the direction of the conversation he totally forgot to sound mean. Wood looked at his confused expression for second and then, all of a sudden, started laughing. Which made Marcus even more irritated. “You actually didn’t know? God, you’re even more stupid than I thought.” The hell was going on? Marcus felt anger rise in him again because he hated being called stupid. He resolutely turned back to the fire and didn’t say another word.

So what if Wood was gay. So what if he outed him in front of the entire school. Gormless git, it would have happened anyways. And calling _him_ stupid for it. Marcus wanted to be mad for the rest of the night, but the whole story kept stirring inside him. Yes, it would have happened anyways, but it would not have been him. Wood was right, they never hit below the belt. He had never noticed. _Great, what now?,_ Marcus thought hopelessly, _I will not fucking apologize to the faggot. No, gay_ , he corrected himself.

And after a while: _I shouldn’t have. I have to tell_. Who knew what Wood would dig up on him otherwise. Before his nerves could fail him, he coughed slightly and then nearly whispered: “Sorry, shouldn’t have called you that. Didn’t know.” Wood stared at him in surprise. “No, you shouldn’t. But I guess…thanks.”, he said just as quietly.

They fell silent again. Somehow, Marcus wanted to continue the conversation. “Are you sure you’re…uhm..gay? How would you know?”, he asked. Wood stifled a laugh: “Yes, I’m very sure. Well, you just know, don’t you? I mean, _you_ know you’re straight, right?” When Marcus didn’t say anything, he continued: “I kissed a girl last year and just didn’t feel anything. And then, when I would see a hot guy, I would just be attracted to them. The same way my friends feel attracted to girls. So I guess I knew for a long time, just never told anyone. Up 'till today. I actually had plans to come out to my friends soon, but well…” Marcus found himself awful. And not because he was disappointing his parents’ expectations, that was new.

But he was also curiously intrigued. “So have you ever –“. He broke off. He couldn’t ask that. Wood seemed to have guessed the question though, because he answered it: “No, never. Kinda hard when all guys you know are straight jocks, you’re in the closet and don’t want people to think you’re a perv.” “Hm”, was all Marcus contributed to that.

“I’m going to drink my sleeping potion now. Don’t hex me.”, Wood said a while later, “Night.” “Night”, mumbled Marcus.

 

Madam Pomfrey woke him early the next morning, examining his ribs and nodding satisfactorily. “You’re all healed, Mr. Flint. Now, before I dismiss you”, she said sternly, holding Marcus back as he was trying to get up, “I don’t want to see you in here again because of a fight. We have enough Quidditch-related injuries as it is, no need to take the bludgers’ job.”

On the other end of the room, Harry Potter was just getting ready to leave. He had totally forgotten about the Gryffindor seeker. He must have been carried in long before Marcus. Thank god his bed was so far away, he couldn’t possibly have heard the conversation between him and Wood last night. _Or could he?,_ Marcus wondered. And why hadn’t they placed the two Gryffindors next to each other?

But the thought was pushed out of his brain, as Madam Pomfrey loosened her grip on his shoulder and he could finally get dressed. Without even a look at Potter he got out of the Hospital Wing and made his way down to the Great Hall.

 

It had been a rather unpleasant day, all in all. Whispering voices and furtive looks followed him around and he knew that him outing Wood was gossip gold for at least a week. The Gryffindors even hissed at him in the corridors. His own house insisted on celebrating him as a hero which was even worse. “A faggot as Quidditch Captain, didn’t know they could get that low.”, sneered Higgs at dinner. “I bet he doesn’t care about Quidditch at all”, interjected Malfoy, “just does it for the post-game showers!”

Everyone around them laughed. Marcus winced at the sharp pain in his intestines. “You alright?”, Pucey asked him in a low voice through the cheering. Marcus pulled himself together: “Yeah, just a little sore.” At the other end of the hall, a harassed looking Wood practically fled the Great Hall, which made the Slytherin table whistle and clap.

 

Marcus spent the next weeks trying to get the conversation with Wood out of his head. He failed about as miserably as he failed in transfigurations. At least after a while the turmoil around the whole thing wound down, even though he had to threaten Malfoy with expulsion from the team to stop him from making up a nasty song about Wood. Malfoy just sneered.

Marcus started to watch Wood, not just while spying on the Gryffindor Quidditch practices, but during lessons, at lunch, in the library. Not that he wanted to watch him, of course. But he had to make sure the Gryffindor captain was okay. For their next game.

Wood actually seemed to be doing alright, considering the bullying after news of his sexual orientation had broken. Maybe he was a little more withdrawn than before, spending more time in the library by himself. Since Marcus _had_ to watch him, he also spent more time there and actually got in the habit of studying for his looming N.E.W.T.s. It would have been way more effective if he didn’t _have_ to watch Wood though.

One gloomy Friday afternoon he stared at his parchment, hoping it would write the essay on its own: “The heritability of metamorphic abilities”. Marcus groaned and buried his face in his hands. But he had to do it, the thirteen inches were due on Monday. So he got up and searched through the section about human transformation. The old and weighty tomes didn’t look promising. What he needed was some sort of... _Transfiguration for Dummies_ , but of course that would have been way too easy.

At last he took as many boring looking volumes as he could carry and made his way back to the desk. Turning around a corner, he bumped into a crouched figure and immediately showered the other boy in heavy books. “Watch it”, he gnarled, already annoyed and not in the mood to apologize, when he realised who was standing in front of him. Wood rubbed his head at the spot where Marcus’ feeble attempt at research had hit him.

 _I fucking hurt his head AGAIN?,_  the Slytherin thought panicky. His hand sinking down, Wood raised an eyebrow at him. “Uh…sorry, didn’t mean to”, Marcus stammered. “Are we that much of a threat to you that you have to attack us in the library?”, Wood said in - obviously feigned - earnest. He pushed the book he had been studying into Marcus arms, turned around and left. Marcus stood there, trying to collect his thoughts. Had Wood just been mocking him? That was unprecedented for. Not the mocking, but the light-heartedness. The raised eyebrow. The hint of a smirk. Still overwhelmingly confused, Marcus stooped down to collect the scattered books when his eyes fell upon the one already in his hands: _Transfiguration for Dummies_.

After two hours, he hadn’t even written one word on his parchment. His only achievement was turning on the desk lamp in front of him so the empty sheet shone starkly in his eyes.

He thought about Wood. Was he really gay? He seemed so…normal. Not that gays weren’t normal, he wasn’t one of those homophobic pricks, but weren’t they like…gayer? With fancy hairdos and kinked wrists and exaggerated laughs? Wood wasn’t anything like that. He looked like a normal bloke. A good-looking bloke. What? _I don’t know if he’s good-looking,_ Marcus urged himself, _I wouldn’t know since I. don’t. think. about. that._ Great, now he was definitely thinking about that.

He knew the girls tended to giggle when around the Gryffindor. Not the Slytherin girls of course, giggling was way beneath all of them, but hadn’t he even overheard that irritating second year Pansy Parkinson tell her friend what a loss it was to find out he was gay? Well, he was fit. Not bulky like Marcus, but well-built after all those years of sports. And he guessed that Wood's face was alright as well. Green eyes. Now _why_ did he know _that_? _From staring into them before every match_ , a reasonable voice said inside his head. Yeah, that was it. He stared into all the other captains’ eyes. He totally also knew Roger Davies’ eye colour. He just couldn’t remember at the moment.

He wondered if Wood had kissed a guy yet. When they were in the Hospital Wing together – _at the same time, not together_ – he hadn’t. But now that he was out…surely there were other gay students who would fancy Wood. He must have kissed one of them already. What was it like? Marcus had never even kissed a girl before, not that he cared, but certainly it was different with two blokes?

“You still here?” A voice yanked him out of his thoughts. Pucey stood next to his desk, a pitiful grin on his face as he looked down onto the empty parchment, “If this is all you managed by now – just do it tomorrow.” Marcus stared at the utensils and books lying around. What time was it even? “Come on, take back your books, I want to leave!” Still not entirely aware of his surroundings, Marcus began to collect his belongings and shoved them carelessly into his bag. Then he took the books and brought them back to the right section.

He had only one left, the not at all academic and pretentious looking yellow _Transfiguration for Dummies_ and turned it around to check the signature. There was none. No weird combination of characters and numbers that indicated the correct compartment. He opened the book. On the first page, in bulky, straight letters, was written: “OLIVER WOOD, GRYFFINDOR”.

Marcus stared down at the writing. It was Woods own book? Why had he given it to Marcus? Just to mock him further? Why did he even have that book? And there was something else concerning him about it, even though he couldn’t place the feeling. Something about the letters maybe? A huff sounded behind him and as if guided by an invisible force, he shut the book and put it into his bag.

Later that night he was standing beneath a stream of hot water, brushing his teeth, still thinking about the whole Wood-ordeal. He hadn’t found out what was so worrisome about that transfiguration book, other that it being the book of the fucking Gryffindor captain. Marcus spat out the last of his toothpaste, turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. He would stop pondering altogether now. There were much more urgent matters he had to tend to. Another letter from his father, expressing his concern regarding the upcoming exams, Quidditch practice, a letter from his mother trying to downplay his father’s concern, the transfiguration essay, the brochures his parents had sent him about career paths after the exams and the actual exams came to mind. At least he could visit Hogsmeade on Sunday.

A sudden sting on his shoulder made him flinch. _Not now, not the marking_ , he thought. Nevertheless he cleared the fogged mirror with his towel and turned around:  **THAT EXPRESSION WAS PRICELESS**.

Marcus stared at the words. His brain didn’t process their meaning because some warning sign had gone off. He couldn’t place that feeling of upcoming revelation, until – it hit him.

The letters. Straight and bulky. All caps.

 

Oliver bloody Wood was his soulmate.


	4. IT IS IMPOSSIBLE, SAYS EXPERIENCE

 

 

What on earth should he do?

Finding out that the Gryffindor captain was his soulmate completely threw Marcus off course. He hadn’t slept at all after making the connection and had just stared at the green ceiling of his four-poster, confused thoughts wreaking havoc in his tired brain. Yet he was nowhere close to a solution.

After fussing about Wood for quite some time, he at least untangled one pressing matter he could possibly sort out: _Am I gay?_ Well, the universe certainly seemed to think so. On the other hand, there were platonic soulmates as well, the Ravenclaws talked about that a lot. So he didn’t actually have to like blokes. Or did he? _Well, I’ve never fancied a guy before._ Alas, he hadn’t fancied a girl before either.

Thinking about it would be no good, he had to do some field research. But he would have to be very careful.

For their next Quidditch training session he picked out the most tiring, sweat inducing moves to practice he could find. Unfortunately it was going on December, so he really had to push it. Two hours after stepping onto the pitch, the whole Slytherin team was close to fainting. Porskoff Ploy, Woolongong Shimmy and Starfish had shown great effect.

Marcus grinned inwardly as Warrington suggested to shower in the shed before heading back to the castle. Everybody nodded and trudged inside. Now he just had to watch and observe. Pucey stepped into the shower next to his own and shot him an inquiring look: “Why did you make us grind that hard out there? I mean, we’re all practically dead!” Marcus tried an unimpressed shrug: “Game’s coming up, we have to win.” Considering he had always been obsessed with Quidditch, Pucey accepted the explanation.

Marcus showered longer than the rest so he could see them walk past his cabin. Lean muscles came by, glistening with water (Pucey). A scrawny figure clutching a towel (Malfoy). Bulky and tanned (Warrington), stout but defined (Derrick), dark-skinned and freckled (Bole). His cock gave no noticeable reaction. It was a shame he had replaced Higgs, because that one was a sight to behold. Maybe he should recruit Zabini, after all even Gryffindor girls dated him because of his looks. But Zabini was way too vain to make a good player. And winning in Quidditch was still more important to Marcus than discovering his sexual orientation.

He did however try to picture the fit Slytherin one evening later, jerking off in his bed with the hangings closed. Half an hour later his penis hurt and he gave up.

 

So maybe he wasn’t gay after all? But didn’t that make him asexual? A sexual squib, basically? The thought of explaining that to his parents was terrifying. It couldn’t really be true, either, because he wanted to have sex. In his imagination he had great, wild, steamy encounters in dark corridors, pressed against the walls, hunkering in front of teachers’ desks – just with unidentifiable partners. And alright, every once in a while, his imagination gave him painfully tender scenes under fluffy blankets. But only in his real dreams. It made him infuriatingly happy.

Christmas drew closer and under the load of homework he almost gave up on his quest. Then, one snowy afternoon, he decided to take his broom for a short spin to test out a new move. His transfiguration homework had taken him hours and his brain was pretty much a case for the Quibbler at that point, so he fled the castle.

On his way to the pitch, the Weasley twins passed him and promptly threw a snowball. Marcus was about to hex them in retaliation but stopped: They were coming back from practice. Wood was their captain and always the last one back. If he hurried, he could run into him. Ignoring the indignant stares he started to run. The pitch was empty. _Maybe he’s still in the broom shed, stowing away their equipment,_ he thought almost imploringly. Careful as not to make a sound, he pushed open the door.

Wood stood between the lockers, drying himself with a red towel. Little droplets of water ran down his back. Fuck Higgs or Zabini – this was the hottest thing he had ever seen. Marcus could feel his pants tighten uncomfortably. Oh god, he _was_ gay. A little pant escaped his throat and Wood turned around. He jerked the towel up to cover himself and yelled: “Flint, what the hell are you doing here?” Even though there was merely enough blood in his brain to keep him upright, Marcus – and he was still proud of this move years later – had the wit to coolly pick up his bag (which he ought to do anyways, who knew how much the robes could conceal), pull something out of it, take three steps forward until he was just a little too close to the Gryffindor and hand him the big yellow book. “Thought you might need it back.”

Wood stared at him, mouth gaping open. He looked down onto his own book, then back up, clearly at a total loss for words. Marcus turned at his heels and left the shed with a heartbeat so loud he wondered if it was audible for Wood.

Later that night, as he took a hot shower before going to bed, he pictured some of his favourite wanking scenes with the Gryffindor captain playing his partner. He didn’t even have enough time to hurt his penis.

 

Now that he knew, Marcus was hell bent on finding a way to undo it. Not that he saw anything wrong with being gay himself, but there was just no way his parents would ever accept it. The little scene when they talked about the Greengrass boy was more than enough proof. 

Marcus decided to stay in Hogwarts for Christmas. Spending more time with his parents was nothing either of them desired and when he told them that all seventh years were studying they didn’t object. He didn’t have to tell them he was studying potions and charms to change his sexual orientation. Well, if they knew, they wouldn’t object to that either.

The library was eerily quiet the first week of winter break. With only Madam Pince sneaking around the shelves he didn’t have to worry about other students’ furtive looks. The only problem was – he didn’t find anything. _But there must be something here, I can’t be the only one with that problem,_ Marcus desperately thought after crossing off another section as futile. Surely there were hundreds of wizards from pureblood families who had to hide their hideous true identity to fit in? But poor Talfryn Greengrass was the only one he had ever heard of and obviously not good at hiding anything.

Sometimes Marcus wondered if being part of that elite circle was worth it after all. At least the mudbloods could do whatever they wanted to. Or could at least dare to ask. He actually mused going to the librarian, as she probably knew all of the books by heart, but he didn’t have the courage. Maybe she couldn’t give him an answer anyways. These kinds of spells were probably forbidden in Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore would have made sure of that.

Which was why – he knew where to look. The old books about dark magic in the restricted section. There was no one less accepting than ancient, pureblood Dark Wizards. If they dared talking about such abominations, they would definitely have found a cure. It was worth a shot. At least before hexing his cock off. Oh no, that would be wrong too, can’t have a guy without a cock, how would he father all the obedient pureblood children he was supposed to have? He almost wished back his transfiguration problems.

Late that same night, he stealthily made his way back into the library. Marcus cautiously checked all dark corners for Mrs. Norris before crossing over the barrier to the restricted section. The leather-bound tomes hung on metal chains which clanged at the slightest touch. He pulled out book after book, careful to put them back exactly how he found them. Nothing. Then, after what felt like an eternity, as he as just suppressing another sneeze from all the dust, his look fell upon a silver headline: _The most shameful illnesses – cure, endure and obscure._

Marcus’ stomach twisted uncomfortable, thinking that his very nature could be categorized as “shameful”, but he pulled it out of the shelf nonetheless. The pages were withered, some smeared with unidentifiable substances, others marked with little strips of parchment. The last person to open it was apparently trying to become white. Marcus groaned, seeing that there was no index in the front, and flipped through the book.

He hit pay dirt on page 394: _Impurities in personal alignment._ There were a lot of outdated words he’d never heard and assumed all meant “gay” – his guess had been correct, they really couldn’t bring themselves to write it out. But, after a wordy paragraph about how wrong it all was and nothing to ever happen to real purebloods, a little box enclosed two words in some sort of Latin, with an explanation and a figure showing the correct wand movements. _Conversio Propensionis_ , his way out. He deliberately copied the instructions on a scrap piece of parchment, put the book back and went back into the dungeons.

Unwilling to wait any longer, he didn’t go to bed but prepared to cast it then and there. Finally certain he knew it by heart, Marcus stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom: “ _Conversio Propensionis_ ”, he said in a clear voice while tapping the wand on several parts of his body.

Nothing happened at first. Then everything went numb. It felt as if something was pressed on his ears and he hit them to make it go away. His arms and feet were heavy and very slow. Dragging them over the floor, Marcus trudged over to his four poster and slumped down on it. Heavy sleep encased him almost instantly.

The next day, he didn’t want to get up. The numbness had partially subsided but Marcus still felt drained. Getting up would mean studying for his exams. He half considered taking out his broom, but not even a morning flight could tempt him. It just wasn’t worth it. So he stayed in bed, dozing from time to time, burning little holes in the canopy with his wand, ignoring the growling of his empty stomach. When the sun went down he had to get up because his bladder nearly killed him. He avoided the mirrors and got back to bed. On the second day he slept until noon, then watched the icy rain hit the skylight.

It was again after sunset when a knock at the door startled him out of his apathy. A little elf scuttled into the room, carrying a silver plate and a scroll. “Master Flint, sir, so sorry to bother you, sir, but you has to eat, sir!”, it said in a high pitched voice, placing some sandwiches on his bed stand. Marcus looked confused but said nothing. The elf, noticing his puzzled expression, added: “We make daily reports to your House Elf, Bead, sir. She wants to be sure you’re doing okay. So when you didn’t come to dinner two days in a row, she sent me here. And you got a letter, an owl dropped it at breakfast.” Curtsying deeply, the Hogwarts elf turned around and left the dorm.

Marcus ignored the sandwiches and opened the scroll. _Probably father, asking why I’m not studying,_ he thought. Or hadn’t Bead told his parents? The withered old elf had always taken a special liking to him, sneaking food into his room and hiding dirty formal robes from his father. If she was worried about him, telling his parents was probably the last thing she’d do. To Marcus’ surprise, the letter was from Charlie:

_“Marcus! Everything alright with you? Haven’t heard from you since last year, is it just the exams or something else? Anyways, I’m visiting Hogsmeade tomorrow, had to take care of an illegally traded dragon egg (at least not Hagrid this time) and I’m staying for another day. Want to meet up? If I don’t hear anything else, I’ll meet you at the gates at 11. Hope to see you, Charlie”_

 

The next day, Marcus hesitantly took a shower before putting on his winter robes. He skipped breakfast but left his dorms in time to arrive at the gates before Charlie. Malfoy shot him a furtive look as he crossed the common room. He didn’t care.

Charlie apparated next to Marcus just a minute later. “Hey, Marcus! You got my letter - really nice seeing you”, he said with a grin on his face that slowly faded as his gaze wandered over the Slytherin. “You look…terrible! Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean…but…are you okay?” “Haven’t slept well”, Marcus mumbled and led the way into the village. They spent an hour in the Three Broomsticks, with mostly Charlie talking about his work while Marcus sipped on a steadily decarbonating butter beer. After emptying their bottles, they walked to the outskirts of Hogsmeade and ended up at the Shrieking Shak.

“Okay, Marcus. What is going on with you? Are there Dementors sleeping in you dorm? Last time you said you were always angry, but now – mate, I don’t even recognize you!”, Charlie said in a low voice. Hands deep in his pockets, Marcus stared at the boarded up windows of the cabin without seeing them. And without thinking about it, he said: “I’m gay.” Charlie exhaled audibly, before asking: “Ooh, I didn’t know. And you’re not happy about it?” “I don’t know if I’m still gay. Tried a spell couple of days ago.”

“You did what? A spell? Are you…Marcus, that is not smart. At all. Is that why you look like a ghost?”, Charlie almost yelled. Three birds fluttered out of a nearby bush. Faltering from time to time, Marcus told him about the whole ordeal, only leaving out the part about Oliver Wood being his soulmate. At the end, some feeling had returned to his insides. Charlie had listened very carefully and now said imploringly: “Marcus, I get it. Being gay and from an old pureblood family, it has to be an immense pressure. But you have to get this spell reversed. They don’t work! And if they do, they come with nasty side effects. If you don’t believe me, look into a mirror. I’m sure there are better ways of dealing with this.” “I can’t go to Madam Pomfrey with this! I shouldn’t even know this spell!”, Marcus exclaimed. Charlie tried his best talking him into it, but his mind was set. He wouldn’t include anyone else in this. What if she wrote to his parents?

“Can’t you do it?”, he asked the dragon researcher. Charlie looked worried: “I don’t know, so much can go wrong! What if I make it worse?” But in the end, he agreed trying it. “Finite incantatem”, he whispered, tapping Marcus in the same spots that were used for the original incantation.

Almost instantly, the cloudiness inside Marcus’ brain lifted. Emotions came flooding back. “Did it work?”, Charlie asked. “I’m…hungry! Yeah, I think it worked.” Marcus shook of the last remaining dizziness. “Thank you.”, he mumbled.

They ate at Madam Puddifoot’s before parting ways. “Any idea what you’re gonna do about the gay thing?”, Charlie asked as they shook hands. “Nah. As long as I don’t act on it nobody will notice, I think. Maybe my parents will fix me up with someone, then I don’t have to do it.” They went quiet. “Okay.” Charlie still looked worried. “But if you ever change your mind, or need anything else, really, write me!” Marcus nodded. 


	5. IT HAS NO FUTURE, SAYS INSIGHT

 

Spring term started shortly after New Years.

Marcus immersed himself into Quidditch practice, their match against Ravenclaw coming up in February. He also tried to catch up on transfigurationS, which he had neglected during the break. Together with the obscene amount of homework their teachers gave them to prepare for the N.E.W.T.s, Marcus had no problem ignoring his other problems. The one problem, really.

He had stopped masturbating in an attempt to just bore his sexuality out of him and was a little more edgy than usual. Since a big horrific monster was currently roaming the school, nobody noticed. His marking had changed again, now saying **DIFFERENT?** , but he didn’t look at it very often.

They wouldn’t face Gryffindor in Quidditch again and Wood was one year below him, so avoiding the Gryffindor captain was rather easy. The only time they had to face each other was during Care of Magical Creatures, Marcus’ favourite subject by far. Professor Kettleburn was old and thoroughly fed up with being attacked by his creatures all the time, and, only hesitantly teaching for another year, had demanded that the older students had class together. Since merely ten sixth and seventh years had continued with Care of Magical Creatures, Dumbledore had given in, damning Marcus to the weekly torture of acting casually around Oliver Wood.

The first lesson after Christmas was particularly painful. “Hey Oliver, have you seen the poster on the notice board? Apparition lessons start next week. You’ve turned seventeen in December, are you going?”, he overheard Angelina Johnson asking his secret sexual fantasy. Seventeen _. Oh no. He got his marking_ , Marcus thought feebly. What did it say? _Oh god, what if it’s graphic. And what if he – knows?!_

But Wood seemed relaxed around him, asking him for a spare quill without any indication of disgust. Which clearly meant that he didn’t know. If he knew, he’d probably be in the restricted section by now, soon running around like the Moaning Myrtle.

They were studying Clabberts, green creatures that looked like a cross between lizard and monkey. Professor Kettleburn, clearly just wanting an excuse to take a nap, put them together in groups of three and ordered them to list the Clabbert’s distinct features. Being the only Slytherin around, Marcus was forced to join Wood and Johnson. “Okay, I’ll hold it and you tell me what you see”, his soulmate said, grabbing a fierce looking specimen. They only managed to list its webbed fingers and long tail, when the Clabbert decided to spice things up and wiggled free.

Angelina just giggled as Marcus and Wood ran after it, the Gryffindor finally catching it by making a courageous jump into a little pond. He re-emerged, holding the animal tight while stumbling on dry land. “You’ve got something –“, Marcus said, hand outstretched to pick a waterlily out of Wood’s hair, then stopped and blushed. _Fucking idiot, what the hell are you doing?_ , he scolded himself. Wood didn’t seem to notice, busy freeing himself from the water plants. Waterlilies suited him. The wet robes clinging to his body weren’t to bad, either.

With the Clabbert now trying to bite Marcus instead of Wood, they got back to the group. “Okay, now, we definitely can add teeth to the – ouch!”, Wood cried out, suddenly clutching his sides. “What’s wrong, Oliver?”, Angelina asked. “Nothing, just…burned a little. Let’s do the list.” But he still held one hand over his ribs and seemed rather fidgety. It dawned on Marcus. What if – _the marking!,_ he thought. His own rather tingled than burned, but what if Wood was a wuss and it had changed right at this moment? _That can’t be good._ They continued their studies, with Professor Kettleburn snoring soundly on the ground, until the bell rang.

Marcus hastened to the castle, hoping, praying, that his worst fears didn’t come to life.

Of course – he should know by now – the universe hated his guts and did exactly what he'd hoped to avoid.

 

It was dinner that same day. He had just helped himself to more beans, when one utterly confused Oliver Wood stumbled into the Great Hall. His eyes searched the Slytherin table and fell onto Marcus. Oh god. He would come over. Marcus had to act fast, if he didn’t want to be laughing stock of his whole house.

“It’s you! It’s you, isn’t it? That comment about waterlilies, that was you! You were the only one with me! And…how can it be you?”, Wood stammered frantically while Marcus dragged him out the Great Hall at his collar. “Shut the fuck up, will you”, he urged him. The entrance hall was empty. He stopped and turned around to stare at Wood. The Gryffindor’s hair was in complete disarray. His face, too. Marcus noticed that this was exactly how he looked after a Quidditch match. That didn’t help.

To stop Wood from firing up again, he quickly said: “Yes, it’s me. But don’t make a big deal out of it. This doesn’t mean anything!” The other just gaped at him. “But it _is_ a big deal!”, he finally blurted out, “And it doesn’t mean nothing! You’re my soulmate, for god’s sake!” Marcus groaned. This wouldn’t go over as quietly as he had hoped and the other students would come out of the hall soon.

“Come”, he hissed. He started walking aimlessly, searching for a more private corner. They hurried out the castle onto the darkening grounds. Towards the broom sheds, they would be safe from unwanted attention there. Marcus closed the door behind them. It was dark inside. Wood just stood there, leaning against the lockers, clearly waiting for Marcus to say something.

Nothing came. “Flint – _Marcus_ – you can’t just disregard this.”, Wood said at last. Marcus winced slightly at the name. “Why not? It’s not like we are made for each other! We don’t even know each other, really. And I’ve heard of tons of people who chose someone else. Just get it out of your head, okay?” “You could do that? Just push it aside?” Marcus groaned. Before he could say anything, Wood continued talking: “How long have you known?” “For a couple of months.”, Marcus admitted. “And you didn’t say anything?” Wood looked indignant: “Wait, you’re one year older than I am, that means – did you have your markings for over a year?” “One and a half, yeah.” “Bet they were horrible at the beginning!” Marcus nodded and they both chuckled.

“I don’t want to just forget about this.” Wood cut Marcus’ answer off by adding: “Just…think about it, okay? I don’t want you to be my lover or anything, but I really think this means something. Maybe we should try to be friends, you know?” Marcus got up and opened the door. Wood followed him, but before he could walk past, Marcus held him back: “I don’t wan… _have_ to think about it. We can’t be friends, you know that.” “I don’t!” That fucking Gryffindor. Why did he need everything spelled out for him? Marcus had never been good with words. _This is so stupid,_ he thought. Why make a big deal out of it? They had never been friends, nothing was lost! He looked up at the resigned keeper. Did he really expect anything else from him?

Wood shook his head slightly and sighed, turning away from Marcus to leave. Marcus didn’t want him to leave. What _did_ he want? He grabbed Wood’s – Oliver’s – collar, leaned forward and kissed him. Oliver stood petrified. After just a second, Marcus came to his senses and drew back: “Sorry, I – sorry”, he stuttered, terrified. His insides had turned to ice. “Don’t –“, Oliver mumbled, clearly surprised but with a warm voice.

And then, careful as not to scare him off, he placed his hand on the back of Marcus’ head, slightly stroking his hair. The ice inside Marcus became hot, flowing lava. Oliver drew closer. Way too close. This was happening.

At first, he could feel Oliver’s panting breath on his face, then – he knew it was coming, why was it still a shock? – warm lips touching his.

The other paused to give him time to adjust, patiently waiting for Marcus’ lips to part and invite him in. Without thinking, Marcus kissed him back. He didn’t care what happened or why anymore. They were standing there in the dark, embracing each other, for several minutes of bliss.

Finally, the loud hoot of an owl startled them back into reality. “So now – I think we’ve clarified that you’re into me. And I’m into you. And we’re soulmates. You still think this doesn’t work?”, Oliver said with a smirk, his face close to Marcus’. A bit dazed from everything that had just happened, Marcus tried to sound confident. There really was no choice: “Yeah. Oliver, I can’t be gay. Or at least I can’t act on it. You don’t know how it is. And you’re a bloody Gryffindor, you really think I want a relationship with a stupid lion? Nah, this was a one time thing. I just wanted to…test it. And now we know.”

Oliver looked hurt. “Fine. Have it your way. Fucking Slytherin.” And he pushed Marcus away before vanishing into the darkness, again clutching his side. Marcus remained rooted to the spot. _Not my way. But the only way,_ a voice sounded inside his head.

Actually, he was doing Wood a favour. Having Marcus Flint as a soulmate must really suck. He laughed bitterly at the thought that the universe hated Wood more than him.


	6. IT IS HAPPENING AGAIN?, SAYS MARCUS

 

 

It was only the next morning that Marcus realised he didn’t know what Wood’s new marking said. Or where it was exactly. The thought that he would never know filled him with a melancholy that reminded him of his three days of anti-gay-misery.

At breakfast, he threw himself into an agitated discussion about Quidditch tactics with Warrington to keep his gaze from wandering over to the Gryffindor table. Once or twice a prickle in his neck made him wonder if Wood was watching him but he didn’t look up. He also immediately vowed to never go back to the library and risk running into the Gryffindor.

It was only four months until he left Hogwarts and then he never had to face his soulmate again. Until then it was only in Care of Magical Creatures they would have to endure each others presence.

 

For five weeks, everything was going well. But then, one Saturday evening as he was coming out of detention with McGonagall, a dark figure stopped him right in his tracks.

“Wood”, Marcus snarled as he recognized the other boy. Wood held up his hands in a placating manner and quickly said: “I know, I know, we can’t meet. But this isn’t about the soulmate thing. Well, not about _this_ ”, he indicated between Marcus and himself, “soulmate thing at least. It’s about Pucey. Can we talk?” Not expecting this turn of events, Marcus hesitated. About Pucey? Maybe it was just an excuse to corner him, but on the other hand, Wood usually didn’t do the behind-the-back plotting thing he was used from Slytherins.

“Fine”, he said brusquely. The Gryffindor still looked at him, waiting. Marcus grunted. “Maybe somewhere more private?”, Wood asked, “Just so nobody sees us talking. Oh come on Flint, I won’t rape you, but I thought _you_ were the one making a big deal out of not letting anyone know.” “Fine”, Marcus said again and led the way. Since they were already on the upper corridors he headed straight for the little used bathroom that served as his hide-out from time to time.

Going inside, he remembered that it was at this exact location he had bumped into Wood the day his marking had appeared. The other boy seemed to notice it as well, because he tensed up as they entered. “So, what about Pucey?”, Marcus asked hastily to not get into this.

“I think he has a thing with one of my chasers. Katie. I – uhm – saw them snogging in the broom shed the other day.” The broom shed, really? What was this, a bad joke? Trying to look unfazed, Marcus asked: “So what? Where’s the problem?” If this was Wood’s way of telling him that inter-house relationships were something desirable, it wouldn’t work. Adrian didn’t count as a Slytherin anyway.

But for once, the Gryffindor didn’t seem to hang onto that romantic crap at all. “They’re soulmates. _Soulmates_ , Flint!” Marcus still didn’t comprehend. “They are in love! She will tell him about our Quidditch tactics, for Merlin’s sake!” It was about Quidditch? Worrying about team secrets being traded because Pucey and that Bell stomped on all unspoken rules about Slytherins and Gryffindors never befriending each other was so borderline obsessive, Marcus wanted to kiss him for it. Not really, of course. Metaphorically. He didn’t want to kiss Wood for anything.

It did however make him laugh so hard, his deep, grunting laughter, that he had to hold his sides from the pain. _Low, Bell, thinking about Pucey’s sweet cheeks_ , he thought. Wood looked almost adorably desperate, making Marcus forget his lost respect for the Gryffindor chaser. “This is what you’re getting at? Really?” “Of course! What did you think? I worked on our tactics for months and it was all for nothing because your chaser can’t keep it in his pants!” “ _Our_ chasers”, corrected Marcus, then stopped himself because he had said _ours_ and there was no such thing.

Still relieved that the fuzz was about nothing more than Quidditch, he slid down the wall below the windows and sat on the floor: “I don’t think you have to worry about that, Wood. We won’t even play you again this year. And Pucey is out of school by the end of term.” “You think so? What if he tells the other players? I’m talking major secrets here, Flint.” But he sat down besides the Slytherin, looking a little less terrified than before. “Really? You don’t even have a big plan, you just hope your boy wonder does all the work for you”, Marcus teased. _Now why would I do that?_ , he thought, panicking slightly. This was dangerous territory. He felt a friendly nudge at his shoulder. Definitely dangerous, but somehow, he didn’t care.

“If you really want to know: He won’t tell your brilliant, never-seen-before tactics. We’re Slytherins, if you haven’t forgotten that. We would bully him out of the common room if he told us how he found out.” That finally calmed Wood down. “And you won’t ask him?” “No, Wood, I won’t ask him. Don’t want to be the one bullied out of the common room, either. And besides, what do I care? I’ll start at the ministry come fall, no place for school Quidditch.” At the thought of this gloomy future, he started picking at his shoelaces. He would give a lot to care about Quidditch tactics.

Next to him, Wood cocked his head and asked in a surprised voice: “The ministry? Why on earth would you want to work there? You could go pro, easily!” A warm rush surged through Marcus. “Parents”, he mumbled. Wood gave a noncommital grunt: “I still think you should do it. Chasers are always wanted.”

It was easy. Talking to Wood on the floor of this dingy bathroom was easy and nice and comforting. He didn’t push Marcus, instead waiting patiently when he took some time finding the right words. He was able to talk about Quidditch more in-depth than anyone Marcus knew. And he listened, actually cared about his opinion, even if he didn’t share it. They talked about their last games, their favourite players in the league, the upcoming Quidditch World Cup while the sun was slowly going down, illuminating the bathroom in a soft golden tone.

“I think Ireland’s gonna win”, said Marcus. “No way! Always Scotland!”, Wood opposed with utter conviction. Marcus slapped a hand in front of his eyes: “Oh my god Wood, never! This is just your stupid patriotism. They only have one useful chaser, the others are basically trolls!” “Wanna bet?”, Wood suggested, hand already outstretched. “I don’t need your money, really, but seeing you lose it could be worth it.”, Marcus grinned and accepted. His hand tingled when their fingers met and he quickly let go again.

“I need something to drink to that. Scotland, dear Salazar, and I thought you knew what you’re talking about.” He stood up. “You coming?”

 

They ran through the empty castle, trying not to laugh, and came to a halt in front of an old tapestry.

“Where are we?”, Wood whispered while looking around. The tapestry showed Barnabas the Barmy getting beat up by a horde of trolls. Marcus had once studied them to figure out if he really looked like one. He had heard other students say it but didn’t think it was true. Maybe his teeth. In the end, he had just admired their determination in breaking every single bone of Barmy’s body.

“Room of requirement. Wait a second.” Marcus walked by the empty bit of wall opposite the tapestry three times, focusing hard. A heavy wooden door appeared to let them in. “Our old house elf told me about it, I think she is friends with the elves in Hogwarts. I had to stock up the bar though, it’s the only thing the room doesn’t provide.”, Marcus explained as he let an open-mouthed Wood pass him into the spacious salon. A large black leather sofa, accompanied by two armchairs, dominated the room. Across from the seating area, a lively fire crackled in the hearth. Bookshelves and dark oil paintings adorned the panelled walls and on the mantle a row of dusty bottles invited them in.

“Haven’t been here for a while”, Marcus murmured while cleaning the labels on some bottles. He uncorked one with amber liquid and filled two glasses. Giving one to Wood, who still stared at him, he sat down onto the leather sofa. “To the Ireland National Team then.” He raised his glass. Finally coming to, Wood clinked their glasses and said: “Yes, to the graceful losers, Ireland!”

They took a sip and gasped a little bit as the firewhiskey burned down their throats. Wood flopped down next to Marcus. “That is the best lair I’ve ever seen”, he said earnestly. They grinned at each other.

 

Another hour later they drunkenly told each other all the team secrets Wood was afraid of coming to light.

“See? You wouln’ have a shance. Foolproof. An’ the Cup is ours.”, the Gryffindor exclaimed excitedly. “Nah”, grunted Marcus, spilling a little bit of firewhiskey. It burned a whole in the oriental rug. “You forg…forget that we’re playing dirty. I coul’ defeat you n...no problem.” “What would y’do?” “Flash you, ‘course!” Wood blushed at that and tried to hide it by taking another big gulp. He immediately fell into a coughing fit and Marcus had to thump his back. “Better?”, he asked. “Than’s”, Wood said hoarsely and looked him into the eyes. “You’re a good guy Marc’s, you know that?” Marcus awkwardly looked at the burn mark on the floor.

The alcohol, the talking, the late hour – this was a bad, bad idea. He would so regret that in the morning. But at the same time, as if he had no control over his tongue, he asked: “What does your marking say?” Wood seemed slightly surprised by this turn of events, but answered: “Show m’ yours if I show y’ mine?” It was too late anyways, so Marcus pulled his robes down over his shoulder to let Wood read the words.

He had to turn around and couldn’t see the other boy’s face, but a rough laugh told him Wood was still sober enough to read. “ **MERLIN WOW** , really? Oh, I remember sayin’ that the day after…” The voice subsided. Marcus pulled his collar back up and turned around, pretending not to have noticed the implication. “Now you…yours.”, he demanded. Actually, he wasn’t even sure if he wanted to see it. And what if it was in a really awkward place?

But Wood had already shrugged off his robes and gathered his shirt over his ribs. There, across his ribcage, a messy scrawl spelled out **~~didn’t~~ like that**. Marcus stared at the words in his own handwriting and the sudden urge to touch them, touch the mark he had left on the smooth skin of the other boy overcame him.

Wood flinched as warm fingers made contact and then little goosebumps erupted all over his torso. Marcus traced the letters. He would never admit it, but they stated exactly how he felt. The realisation made him a little dizzy, or maybe it was the firewhiskey. “Li’l contradictory, I thought. S’ill nice though.”, Wood said. Marcus looked up. He grinned slyly: “No’ everybody is as blu…blunt as you fucking Gryff’hoes.” He felt Wood’s chest quiver under silent laughter. “You ma’e me drunk to get me naked, tha’s _so_ blunt!” “As if it was ha…hard to get you naked.”, Marcus retorted.

Wood looked at him intently – or as intently as possible, having had quite a few – then leaned closer and kissed him. It burned harder than the firewhiskey. Marcus jerked his hand away from the marking just to settle it on Oliver’s hips. They were sitting awkwardly next to each other on the sofa and not nearly close enough. Marcus, throwing all caution to the wind, shifted over and straddled Oliver. Oliver moaned in return, as Marcus’ already hardened cock pressed against his crotch. Their kisses deepened, getting frenzied, not sufficient to satisfy their urges.

Marcus tucked at the hem of Oliver’s shirt and pulled it off as the other willingly raised his arms. His own robes and sweater came off just as easily. “Fuck, you look hot”, groaned the boy beneath him, pulling back enough to admire Marcus’ muscly body. “Haven’t done so bad for yourself”, Marcus muttered while kissing Oliver’s tan neck. With every touch, he could feel the lean muscles tighten under his grip and it made him _want_ more than he had ever wanted anything before.

As if he had sensed this shift into even more raunchy waters, Oliver began fumbling at Marcus’ belt. He managed to open it fairly quickly but in order to go any further, Marcus had to get up. He did so, stumbling as soon as he was upright. The firewhiskey. The room around him started to spin and he bent over, gripping the armrest as not to fall. With eyes screwed shut he waited for the dizziness to subside. “You okay? You don’ look so good. Wait, I’ll bring you s’m water.”

He heard Oliver getting up as well, staggering over to get a new glass and a bottle of water. “Ther…” Oliver managed to thrust the full glass into Marcus’ hand before bending over himself and hurling into a decorative bowl. Marcus produced a faltered laugh before closing his eyes again. After two minutes, he was able to steady himself. The world had stopped spinning and he eagerly drank the whole glass of water.

He filled it up again, still hardly functioning, and kneeled beside the very pale, sweaty boy on the floor. There wasn’t much he could do other than softly stroking his back and assuring him that it would be better soon. He didn’t have to say that _soon_ could range from anywhere between five minutes and three hours.

“Sorry”, Oliver muttered between two rounds, as his body had just stopped cramping. “It’s okay. Don’t worry.” Oliver still seemed to worry though, so Marcus said quietly: “Getting you naked is harder than expected, I guess.” The shoulders over the bowl shivered and a chuckle echoed inside.

 _Soon_ turned out to be exactly one hour. “I think I’m done.”, Oliver stated as he slumped back on his heels. He looked miserable. And adorable. “Then come on up”, Marcus commanded, helping him on the couch. “Here, drink this.” Oliver drank dutifully, then lay down. Marcus shoved a throw pillow under his head before lying next to him. He draped a furry blanket over both of them – Oliver felt chilled to the bone – and managed to turn off the lights with a twitch of his wand. The seat was a little narrow and one of his arms didn’t have anywhere to go. Shifting around, he threaded his legs between the warming up Gryffindor’s. Then Oliver turned, coming to rest his head on Marcus’ marked shoulder.

Marcus put his now not-so-useless arm around Oliver and pulled him even closer. Entwined like that, they fell asleep.


	7. IT IS FOOLISH, SAYS CAUTION

 

 

It took a while for Marcus to figure out where he was and what had happened.

His mouth felt dry. He slowly started to stretch his limbs, only to touch warm skin. Startled by that unfamiliar sensation, he jerked his eyes open. Everything was quiet, except for Oliver Wood’s deep breathing. It tickled his chest. The Room of Requirement had remained dimly lit and Marcus didn’t have any sense of time. But his initial panic at waking up next to another boy slowly subsided, making way for more rational thoughts.

He was _happy_. Alright, his right side was almost completely numb and would tingle like hell when he started to move. And the lingering taste of firewhiskey in his mouth, combined with the dampness of two bodies pressed tight under a warm blanket made him yearn for a shower. But other than these minor inconveniences he was totally content. Here, in the seclusion of his secret retreat, no streaks of shame tainted the content flowing through his insides like calm waters. Marcus wondered if this was how being with your soulmate was supposed to be. If so, he could see the appeal.

Careful as not to wake the Gryffindor, he shifted around to watch him. Oliver looked younger in his sleep, face smooth but for the small wrinkles bundled up robes had put into it. His hand gently clutched Marcus’ side, from time to time twitching unconsciously. A thin strand of brown hair fell into his face. Ever so slowly, the Slytherin tucked it back.

It was very unlike him. The flirting, the teasing, the friendly mocking, yes, he had imagined himself doing that. But enjoying such a quiet, peaceful moment, actually enjoying it without any urge to jump into action, that was different. _Is this what I could be? If I let it happen?,_ he asked himself.  
When he had tried to get to the bottom of this whole soulmate ordeal, he had thought about sex. Sex with a man, sex with Oliver Wood, sex without anyone knowing. Now it had taken on a completely different dimension. Feelings. _Oh Merlin, maybe Adrian isn’t the only Hufflepuff,_ Marcus thought.

After a while, Oliver’s breathing became more shallow and finally, he opened one sleepy eye. Marcus fingers faltered in his hair. Moment of truth. How would the Gryffindor react to him being there all up in his space, half naked on top of that? Was it possible that he had forgotten last night, wasted as he was?

But his former rival just turned his face to look him into the eyes and mumbled: “Morning.” Marcus was so relieved, he grinned widely: “Morning. Feeling better?” Oliver yawned, at the same time assessing the situation: “Like a train wreck. But also pretty great. Oh god, I remember – did you really see me puking half the night? And – OH MY GOD – did I tell you all about our Quidditch tactics?” Marcus chuckled. Oliver’s priorities were something else. “You puked very gracefully, if that helps. And your _secrets_ were mostly a bunch of drunk nonsense. Or were they genius? I don’t know, I had a lot to drink as well. Don’t worry, I won’t tell.”, he said softly.

The other boy propped himself up into a seating position. For a moment he just stared at Marcus. “Marcus! You’re…not freaking out! I was convinced you would be at least three flights of stairs away by now!”, he said surprised. “I’m just as amazed.”, the Slytherin answered honestly. At that, Oliver lay down on top of Marcus and kissed him. When he spoke again, the words tickled both their faces: “Well, I better seize my chance while it lasts, hm?”

It did not last long. While sluggishly kissing again, not caring about their horrible morning breath, something vibrated on Marcus’ wrist. He was about to thoroughly ignore it, but some sense of reality had crept back into his mind and he suddenly knew what appointment the backstabbing gift tried to remind him of.

“Fuck! Quidditch!” Marcus jerked up, panic widening his eyes. “The game against Ravenclaw!”, Oliver exclaimed loudly. They didn’t have to talk about the procedure here. If Marcus was sure of one thing, then that the Gryffindor captain would completely understand what he had to do. In unison they sprang up from the sofa, frantically searching around for their clothes. “How do I look?”, Marcus asked while fastening his tie. “Why? They only let pageant queens onto the pitch or what?”, Oliver asked bewildered. Marcus groaned: “Not how _good_ , you moron – is it very obvious I haven’t showered but was trying to get into a Gryffindor’s pants?” Oliver laughed, but checked him out nonetheless. “The Gryffindor part is not very obvious, the rest however…wait”, he said while pulling out his wand.

A couple of spells later, Marcus was able to leave their lair minty-fresh. They didn’t have time to fix everything, but he hoped that the other players would attribute his overall disheveled-ness to Quidditch or a row or something. Well, not even their wildest guesses would come close to the truth, that was certain.

They won with flying colours, Marcus scoring six of their eight goals. Quite pleased with himself, he lead his team’s victory lap around the pitch, noticing Oliver Wood giving him a secretive thumbs up while he passed the booing Gryffindors. This much closer to winning the Quidditch cup, no one found his glee very suspicious.

 

The next morning – Marcus was thoroughly overtired by now, not having slept a lot for two consecutive days – Wood passed him a little note at the end of Care of Magical Creatures. Marcus opened it on his way back to the castle: “MEET ME IN THE BATHROOM AFTER DINNER?”

“Do you want to play Gobstones later?”, Pucey asked him during their last lesson. “Can’t, uhm…I have to study. Exams coming up, remember?”, Marcus said, trying to sound casual. Adrian chuckled: “Didn’t think I’d live to see the day you’d study. But alright, you do you.” His gaze wondered over to the Gryffindor table and Marcus could see him and Bell exchange a glance. It took all his strength not to tease his best mate about shagging one of their arch nemesis. Not that he was one to talk.

Oliver greeted him with a kiss and a gleeful hug. “I know it should bother me, but wow, your flying yesterday was really impressive! And you didn’t even have to flash Roger Davies!”, he said. “Sh, Oliver, those are secret tactics!”, Marcus answered in a mock scold, “and from what I’ve heard, they only work on Gryffindor keepers anyways.” They sat down under the window as usual.

Wood got serious again: “I really liked it…with you. You know.” Marcus nodded. “Me too. Sorry I was such a jerk when you found out.” “It’s okay. I get it. And hey, you took it way better than I had expected.” Marcus furrowed his brows: “What the hell did you expect? That I’d punch you?” “Or hex me. Or drown me. Yeah, something to that extent, probably.”, the Gryffindor said in earnest. “And what about you? I thought you’d try to cut the marking out at least! Weren’t you at all shocked it was me?”

It took a while before Oliver answered, carefully weighing his words: “I really didn’t have a lot of time to think about it, did I? It all happened so fast – for me, at least. And I never _hated_ you or anything. I think our shared lessons helped with that, you’re a lot less mean when no Slytherins are around!” He hesitated, then added with a chuckle: “And, to be completely honest – I was really desperate for some action.” Marcus laughed. Oliver gently lay a hand on his. “So you never had any…action, before? Really?”, Marcus asked curiously, simultaneously entwining their fingers. They both looked down at their hands, together on the floor between them, and shifted slightly closer. It felt rather natural. “Well, no, not really. I mean, I’ve known since – oh yeah, since that time last year when you ran into me and Perce – but didn’t want to push it. Didn’t feel right. Or, I don’t know, maybe I was just a coward. I kissed a boy from the village once, behind the Hogshead, but I don’t know if that really counts.”

“And what now? What do you want to happen?”, the Slytherin spoke again. Oliver gave him a long, furtive look, slightly worried: “I don’t know. I…haven’t planned any of this. But – oh god, don’t hate me – I thought, maybe, we could take it…slow?” Dreading Marcus’ reaction, he added: “Don’t get me wrong, I really, _really_ want to get into your pants, but – with every new step I’m worried of scaring you off. That first night, when you said those things, I was terrified that it was over. Forever. And if I have only one chance of making this right, I’ll do whatever it takes. You’re my soulmate, after all. No need to break it over a botched blowjob, don’t you think?”

Marcus had listened very intently. Oliver wanted to make it right. With _him_. He didn’t hate him, or was disappointed to have him as a soulmate. The warm feeling that spread inside him at realising this was answer enough. “Okay.”, he said, “we’ll take it slow. No blowjobs. I’ll have to read up on those anyways.” Relief softening the sharp lines in his face, Oliver beamed: “You mean it?” Marcus clutched his hand tight and nodded.

 

They met almost every day, in dark alcoves and on the pitch late at night. Hanging out with his soulmate was so easy, Marcus couldn’t even believe it. Sometimes they just did their homework next to each other in the Room of Requirement, at other times they played one on one Quidditch. Marcus constantly feared being exposed, what with him disappearing to unknown places all the time. But since the exams were getting close, it didn’t raise suspicion. Pucey surely would have noticed, sensitive little git that he was, but having his own secret affair did have its benefits. Over all the snogging with Bell he just didn’t have time to get all up in Marcus’ business.

It was the best time of Marcus’ life. His anger had almost vanished. Having someone who’d talk to him, who’d listen, not just talk over him and criticize his every decision was better than he would have ever expected.

It was only on rare occasions that he awoke with a jolt in the middle of night, his heart racing, body wet from sweat, dismal thoughts running amok in his tired brain: _What will my parents say? Can I ever tell them? What if someone finds out? What if he wants us to go public someday? What if I don’t want to and he breaks up with me?_  
Pushing those musings away was simple during his waking hours, but he noticed the nightly episodes occurring more often the farther the year progressed. One day, he’d have to make a decision. He already dreaded that day.

 

Decision Day was May 13th.

At breakfast, everything seemed normal. Marcus was looking forward to seeing Oliver after classes. He had promised to help Marcus with transfiguration revision, much to the Slytherin’s despair. Transfigurations was a lost cause. While he was helping himself to some eggs, Adrian slumped down on the bench next to him. “Have you heard?”, he whispered. Ice flooded Marcus’ stomach. _Does he know?_ , he though feebly. He managed to croak: “Heard what?” Adrian looked sad. “Remember Talfryn Greengrass? The bloke your parents told us about, the gay dude with the muggleborn boyfriend.” Of course Marcus remembered, but he just gave a curt nod. “They trapped the other guy. Beat him up. Cursed him. I don’t know what they did exactly, but he’s in Saint Mungo’s and it doesn’t look good.”, Adrian said.

By now, Marcus was sure his insides were frozen solid. He swallowed hard and finally asked: “Wh…who beat him up?” “Some purebloods. Rumour has it your dad was somehow involved. There’s an investigation, but we both now they won’t find anyone. And all just because…fuck. Well, just wanted to tell you.”

Marcus left his eggs and got out of the Great Hall. All the terrible questions had been answered. There really was not much of a choice left. Stay with Oliver until their relationship inadvertently came to light and have him pay the price. He thought about the gay boy in Saint Mungo’s. _It doesn’t look good_ , Adrian had said. Or break up with him. Leave him at school, hurt but save. He dreaded the evening.

“Oliver, I have to talk to you.”, Marcus said, trying his best to sound steady. “Oh?”, the other boy asked. He looked up from his notes that lay strewn across the bathroom floor. “It’s about us.” Seeing his soulmate’s tight jaw, the clenched fists, the aimless gaze, Oliver stood up. Marcus’ insides twisted. “It…we…we can’t see each other anymore”, the Slytherin started, only to be interrupted: “What? The fuck, Marcus? What happened _now_? Why…why?”, Oliver shouted. He was close to shaking Marcus. Fuck transfigurations, this was the hardest thing Marcus ever had to do. He started again, urging himself to stay calm: “I realised what I should’ve realised months ago! This has no future! We can’t be together! Just accept that.”

The Gryffindor wasn’t even close to accepting anything. “We _are_ together. And it’s working out just fine. Whatever happened that freaked you out, I’m sure it’s –“ “We’re meeting in secret! It’s only working because nobody fucking knows. But it won’t stay like this forever! So better break it off now.” Oliver gave a derisive laugh that couldn’t quite hide the desperate undertone: “If this is about your parents being embarrassed in front of their pureblood friends –“ Marcus interrupted him again, now almost screaming: “You have no fucking clue about my parents! None, Oliver! Don’t you know what happened to – well, it doesn’t matter. I won’t ever be in a public relationship with you. Ever. You have to accept that.”

“So that’s it? Over, just like that? You’re throwing me away like a used toy or something?”, Oliver asked coldly. “I’m not…you’re not…yes. I’m breaking it off. And I think we shouldn’t see each other again.”, Marcus said with his last remaining self-restraint. “Your wish is my command.” The bitterness was palpable in Oliver’s voice. He took his bag and left the room without looking back.

Marcus stood alone in the darkness, completely empty. After breathing heavily for a couple of minutes, he looked around at their refuge, that dingy bathroom that had filled him with so much joy. He punched the mirror. A thousand little splinters of glass punctuated his skin as it broke. He didn’t notice. Next he kicked in the stall doors, destroying a water pipe in the process. The floor slowly flooded with icy water, picking up the pieces of parchment.

Big, bulky letters began to blur as the ink dissolved. All caps. All gone.

 

Even Pucey avoided Marcus those following weeks. Everyone was terrified he would lash out if they made a wrong move. He overheard Bletchley confessing to Malfoy he was glad Quidditch got cancelled, otherwise he’d have left the team. One evening, Marcus hit a Hufflepuff in the face because the git had asked if it was true his parents were involved in beating up that gay kid. Marcus had to scrub the Hospital Wing floors for a week after that.

The story had made it into the news, not front page, but visible enough. The Grengrass’ were a influential family and most certainly had tried everything from preventing it going public – but there was no stopping Rita Skeeter once she had smelled blood. Marcus pretended not to care, especially since his parents weren’t called out in the article.

He did however notice Oliver Wood staring at him during lunch that day. Marcus shot him a threatening look. He had to be clear about his intentions. _Otherwise he’ll pull a Gryffindor and demand to get back together._ And they couldn’t be. He would not let Oliver get hurt for his selfishness.

 

The rest of term was spent angrily studying for his exams, ignoring the now daily letters from his parents. Drowning out the bleakness that made him feel numb again, with firewhiskey and destruction. Not talking to anyone.

 

N.E.W.T.s went by in a haze. Marcus choked up as he saw the Clabberts during his practical test for Care of Magical Creatures and instantly grabbed the animal too tight. Blood was running down his wrists. Tranfiguration was terrible, just as expected, but his all-encompassing failure didn’t really bother him. In reality, nothing got through to him anymore.

 

Charlie had written him, probably worrying about how he’d taken the news, but the letter lay in his trunk, seal still intact. He decided to deal with it after he’d gotten back home, one week from now. Even in his numb brain, Marcus knew he knew Charlie would be able to help him. And he would need all the help he could get.

One week from now and it would all be over.


	8. IT IS NOTHING BUT PAIN, SAYS FEAR

 

 

Tomorrow it would all be over.

He would pack his trunk, climb onto the Hogwarts Express, start his work at the ministry and never talk to Oliver Wood again. Maybe they would meet in Diagon Alley every couple of years and nod at each other, nothing more. It wasn’t like they had anything in common, no friends, no careers, no big history. And maybe it would be awkward at first, with the lingering knowledge that there was something connecting them, but eventually Wood would see how much better off he was without Marcus. And a few run-ins later, Wood was probably accompanied by his partner, the one he _chose_ , the one that made him happy and not hurt like Marcus inevitably would.

Yes, he had made the right decision. It was the best for all of them.

As he was listening to Dumbledore’s annual speech at the end of term, Marcus let his gaze wander off to the Gryffindor table. He couldn’t see his soulmate’s face, it was turned towards the teachers’ table, but his slumped shoulders pained Marcus. Everything about him looked spiritless. _He should have listened that first evening, should have hated me for being such a cowardly asshole,_ Marcus thought, not without guilt. Well, tomorrow it would all be over.

He spent rest of the feast glumly poking around in his food, not listening to the excited conversations all around him. He could feel Adrian’s worried gaze on him every couple of minutes but didn’t even try to act naturally. Marcus needed his whole strength to not look over at the Gryffindor table again. Pucey probably thought his mate dreaded the exam results and his parents’ reaction to them – which wasn’t wrong – and thankfully didn’t ask. Maybe he just didn’t dare to ask.

After the plates had vanished, everyone got up and back to the dorms. Marcus trotted out of the hall, behind a group of chattering Ravenclaws that exchanged packing tips. It reminded him that he hadn’t packed at all yet. His head bowed down he made his way towards the stairs that would bring him to the common room. The rest of the crowd had scattered.

Then a noise behind him abruptly yanked him out of his thoughts. It had been merely a cough, but he didn’t have to turn around to know who it came from.

Wood was standing there, shoulders still downturned, with a matching expression. “Just…wanted to say good bye.”, he said hoarsely. Marcus stared at him. He wanted to say something, _anything_ , to change that anguished expression in the usually lively and energetic face. But what could he do? _Maybe punch him, so he hates me and is not sad anymore?,_ he considered. He knew at the same time that he just couldn’t.

Still shiftlessly searching for something to say he heard other, faint voices coming from the dungeons. That must be the internal end of year party. Every year, the students leaving Hogwarts would prank the other houses with something stupid – and in the case of Gryffindor and Slytherin with something that blew the whole thing way out of proportion and was probably dangerous – and then sit on the roof and drink firewhiskey. Great tradition, very inconvenient, because they would soon come up the stairs and see Marcus Flint together with Oliver Wood, both close to tears and at a total loss for words. Unacceptable.

Just run away? No, he had to say something. Just what…he needed more time to find the right words, time and solitude. Wood had noticed the approaching sounds as well, because he just shrugged and followed Marcus as the Slytherin made a vague indication towards the grounds.

It felt like all those months ago, just with very different emotions. Back then it had been exciting, albeit horrifying. Now there was no bounce in their steps, just the dreading realisation of what had to be done. They arrived at the pitch, Marcus wordlessly opened the door to the broom shed, Wood followed in silence. It was almost completely dark inside, just a dim light from the illuminated field trickling in through the windows. Dark shadows intensified the expression on Woods face, but the low golden light couldn’t hide how vulnerable he looked.

Marcus steeled himself, finally knowing what to say. How to say what had to be said so Wood could live a happy life, without him. One final good bye.

He opened his mouth. Nothing came out of it. The Gryffindor stared fixedly at his shoes, seemingly preparing for Marcus’ speech. When nothing happened, he slowly looked up. The sad, green eyes met Marcus' and broke the dam inside he had been building for weeks.

He could feel a big knot forming in his throat, tried to swallow, tried to ignore the burning in his chest, the tingling in his fingers. With each futile attempt to swallow, more saliva was building up in his mouth. The hot desperation reached up, his nose started running. The world around him already became suspiciously blurry while he determinately refused to blink. It stung. And the next second, he couldn’t resist anymore.

Tears started streaming down his face while he sniffed, and gulped, and blinked and let go of every hint of dignity he had left. And suddenly, someone was wrapping his arms around him, holding him tight. Marcus could feel one hand cupping the back of his head, pulling him closer. He burrowed his face into Oliver’s neck which was hot and wet already.

They just stood there, clutching each other tightly, none of them letting go even after their heavy sobs subsided. Marcus could smell Oliver and a great warmth flooded him. Cedar and grass and musky manliness, mixed with the salty taste of tears on his lips, either Oliver’s or his own, it didn’t matter.

After what seemed to be an eternity, his soulmate softly released Marcus’ tight grip and took a small step back. He placed a hand under Marcus’ chin and gently lifted it up, so that they looked into each other’s eyes. Then Oliver leaned in and placed a small kiss on his lips. Marcus withdrew his face and stumbled: “Nothing…I can’t, nothing has changed, it can’t…”

Oliver closed his eyes for a second: “I know. It’s just a good bye.” A little wretched sound escaped the Slytherin’s throat. Good bye. He bent his head and closed the space between them.

Their lips met again, salty, hot, unbelievably sad. And in their desperation, their kisses deepened, becoming frantic, clutching at what would soon be gone. Teeth clattered, Marcus brought one hand up into Oliver’s hair, running through it, almost tugging at it. Simultaneously, Oliver grabbed his collar, prising open the clasp and sweeping the cloak off his shoulders. Agitated hands grabbled with his belt.

Marcus softly pulled out of the kiss, palm against the other’s cheek and for a second, they considered each other. The situation. The pain was almost palpable in the air between them, as was their desire. Slowly, Marcus grabbed the hem of his green sweater and pulled it over his head. Oliver’s gaze followed the movement and came to rest on his bulky chest. Looking up at his face again, the Gryffindor opened his own cloak, loosened the red tie, unbuttoned the shirt and took them all off. Marcus could not avert his eyes. A black scrawl on bare skin. Oliver attempted to open his own trousers, but Marcus caught his wrist and held it there. Comprehending, Oliver pulled away and rather began trailing his hand up Marcus’ stomach. Marcus shuddered. Fumbling a little bit, he finally unbuttoned the stubborn slacks, shoving them down alongside the underlying pants. Oliver stepped out of them, careful to not break contact.

Marcus didn’t think when he unzipped his own, bending forward to discard them. He didn’t think when he straightened up again, closing the gap between their bodies. He didn’t think when hot, smooth skin touched his own, sending shudders up his spine. He was so glad he didn’t have to think anymore.

Touching and kissing, they went down onto the floor together. Oliver suddenly turned around and bent over and for a terrible second, Marcus thought he would get his clothes. But the Gryffindor only mumbled something and a thin mattress appeared next to them. They lay down on it, their limbs entwined in an attempt to touch more, feel more. The moment of fear had made the panic rise in Marcus again and he clutched Oliver even more closely to reassure himself that it wasn’t over yet. They were still there, together.

His soulmate seemed to understand, because he gripped Marcus tightly as a fresh surge of tears trickled down his face.

Marcus lifted his head and said throatily: “I want you inside me.” Oliver faltered. “Are you…sure?” “Yes, I am.” There was an imploring undertone in his voice. “I have never done this before. It’s…we can’t just do this, you need to prepare.” “No. I want this. I _need_ this.” “It’s going to hurt –“ “Then it hurts” _It can’t hurt more than this,_ he thought.

Oliver still tried to argue, but the determined expression in Marcus’ face was answer enough. “Okay.” And he started kissing him again, placing his body on top of him. Marcus shivered under the sudden weight, opening his legs to encompass Oliver. He could feel every move the other made, the hard cock alongside his own and heat rose in his chest.

Oliver gently extracted himself from the tight grip, his lips trailing down Marcus’ throat, kissing his chest, his naval, his thighs. Then the warm, wet mouth closed around his cock and his hips jerked up. Marcus screwed his eyes shut, body moving involuntarily, fingers prickling. It wasn’t enough.

“Please, Oliver.”, he stammered. The Gryffindor looked up as he heard his name. He sat up. Plucking his wand from the floor he concentrated hard and with a spell, conjured lube onto his own hard cock, already slicked with precum. He used the same spell on his wand free hand. Then he put the wand down again. Hesitantly, he spread Marcus’ butt cheeks to lube his hole. Marcus felt his whole body tremble. “No, no, don’t stop”, he urged as Oliver recoiled. Oliver was done and looked back at his face. Marcus placed his thighs on Oliver’s chest, over his shoulders and the other drew closer, leaning in and kissing him again. “Do it.”

His hand between them, Oliver guided his cock to line up with Marcus’ hole. And ever so slowly, worried eyes fixed at his soulmate’s face, he pushed inside.

The pain at being breached like that made Marcus see stars for a moment. It burned like hell. He urged himself not to think about the pain, to focus on the person above him and nothing else. As he relaxed, the burning sensation subsided.

Oliver had waited, not moving a muscle. Now he gently moved forward, halting every inch or so for Marcus to adjust. Finally, his whole cock was settled inside Marcus. Their bodies glistened with sweat. Oliver kissed the boy underneath him once again, then, looking into his eyes, started to thrust in and out. Marcus loosened his grip to allow the soft movement. It was pain and utter bliss. Oliver finally felt close enough.

Tears started falling again and he feared it would make Oliver stop, scared he was hurting Marcus, but he seemed to understand. He only smiled sadly at him, salty tears dripping on Marcus’ chest. It went on for what felt like an eternity. They never spoke but with their eyes, tears stopping eventually, from time to time kissing, or touching, or both.

It was the feeling of Oliver deep inside him that made Marcus come. He clutched his own cock with his right, burying his left in his soulmate’s hair and after a couple of strokes his whole body tensed up as he ejaculated. The powerful clench was enough to make Oliver come as well. His cum shot into Marcus and with one last shudder, he collapsed on top of the other boy.

Still panting breathlessly, he pulled his cock out and they lay on their sides, facing each other, limbs entangled once more. “You’re shivering.” “You too.” “Is everything okay?” Oliver looked worried. “Yes. Everything is perfect, Oliver.”, Marcus whispered. He reached behind the other boy’s back and covered them both with a cloak.

In the following hour, while they were just resting and touching, the realisation of what would happen next slowly settled upon them like a dark veil. “This was good bye, wasn’t it?”, Oliver said in a raspy voice after a long stretch of silence. Marcus almost averted his eyes to not see it but didn’t and nodded. “You know that it’s stupid, don’t you?” Marcus only blinked. “I know I can’t talk sense into you. Hell, I wish I could. But I can’t stay like this, it’s killing me.”

And Oliver pulled away from Marcus, leaving a gaping void. Marcus didn’t watch as the Gryffindor dressed himself and only moved once he heard the door close.

Trembling, he sat up, forcing his brain to just focus on finding his clothes and putting them on. With his jumper in one hand he lifted the cloak that had functioned as a blanket only to be hit with a plume of cedar, grass and sweat. It was Oliver’s cloak. Unable to keep going, he sagged back onto the mattress, burying his face into the familiar scent.

A warm tingle on his shoulder made him flinch. Brain empty at last he stumbled to the accompanying bathroom, forced out a “ _Lumos_ ” and turned around in front of the mirror.

**I LOVE YOU.** He groaned and refrained from touching the words. Thank god he was all dehydrated.


	9. IT IS A NEW CHAPTER, SAYS MARCUS

 

The train ride back to London was a blur.

Marcus shrugged as his classmates asked where he had been while they had tried to set the Gryffindor tower on fire, shrugged as Pucey asked which compartment he preferred, shrugged as Higgs told him that he looked terrible.

Back in the Flint residence he spent most of his days wandering around the gardens, only coming inside when he had to. His parents had arranged all sorts of meetings with high ranking ministry officials but it had to wait until after his results were in. Remembering how he handed the examiner a half empty sheet after his theoretical transfiguration N.E.W.T., they were in for a surprise.

So for two weeks there was nothing to disturb Marcus’ lethargic state other than the three meals a day he had to endure in company. His father became more and more agitated, urging him to look at the brochures, prepare for job interviews and stop being such a miserable fuck.

One evening after dinner, when Flint senior almost yelled at him again for not getting his ass up, Marcus’ mother put a calming hand on his father’s arm and gave him a stern look. Flint senior grunted and left the room. Marcus didn’t even look up. He heard his mother shifting around uncomfortably, clearly trying to say something, but talking was not her strength. Great trait to inherit. At last, she just said: “I invited Adrian for a couple of days, maybe he…well, he’ll be here soon.” Then she followed his father out of the salon.

And indeed, only ten minutes later a swoosh in the kitchen fireplace told Marcus that his best childhood friend had arrived. A slight sense of panic rose in his chest – Pucey was not bad at talking. And he _would_ ask.

They had to sit through one hour of lecture by his father before they were allowed to go to their room. Finally, after Adrian had meticulously unpacked his little weekender and put on a matching set of pyjamas – Marcus had just thrown on an old shirt and was on pins and needles, watching Pucey’s endless ritual – he threw himself on the bed next to Marcus and asked: “So, what the fuck is going on with you?”

“Nothing”, grunted Marcus. Adrian waited. Marcus had turned it around in his head during his father’s monologue in the salon but still hadn’t come to a conclusion about whether he wanted to talk or not. He generally preferred not talking. Or punching and not talking. But wasn’t that because he felt like nobody was listening anyway? So it made no difference? And Adrian – _because he’s a bloody Hufflepuff at heart,_ thought Marcus – would listen. Like Oliver had listened. Yes, from everyone he could talk to, Adrian Pucey was the best option. Only option, really. He had thought about writing to Charlie, but if _talking_ wasn’t his strong suit, writing was even worse.

“Is it because of the exams?”, Adrian inquired carefully. Marcus shook his head with a dismissive snarl. “Thought so. I just had to ask, you’re parents seem to think –“ “That’s all they think about.” Silence fell again. Marcus traced the silver pattern on his duvet with a stubby finger. Adrian’s next question came softly: “It’s about your soulmate, isn’t it?” It wasn’t even a real question. He knew. For the first time in his life, Marcus did not want to punch his best mate for being so fucking sensitive. _I really am sick._ He nodded at his bedding. “Who…who is it?” Adrian seemed wary, as if dreading a fist to his nose. But he had still asked. And not out of curiosity – even if that may have been a contributing factor – no, because he cared. Marcus felt a little warmer inside, unclenching his jaw for the first time in what felt like forever. _Oh no, I’m a Hufflepuff too!,_ he thought. He definitely had to punch his friend later. Adrian would understand. “It’s Oliver Wood.”

A sharp intake of breath told Marcus that he had spoken aloud. “Wow. Just wow. The Gryffindor captain?” Marcus nodded. “That’s…wow.” Adrian confusedly shook his head a couple of times, then got a grip on himself: “I guess it makes sense. You fit really well – aside from the house rivalry, I mean.” Marcus ogled him in shock: “Makes sense? Just like that? I thought you would laugh about me until I hex you!” “Good for me I didn’t, then.”

He did snicker now, but soon became serious again: “And what happened? I thought you didn’t care about soulmates?” “Should have stuck with that position.” When Adrian just stared at him uncomprehendingly, Marcus sighed and took off his shirt. Adrian flinched, not knowing what was going on and then froze as he saw the words. “He…what? Loves you? Does that mean – Marcus, what does Wood’s marking say right now?” It took a while before Marcus answered: “I haven’t seen it, but I think”, he broke off but urged himself to say it out loud, “the same thing.”

All air seemed to be pressed out of him. He had never even admitted this to himself. He knew it was true, though. “Okay, so you love him” Now Adrian had said it too, there really was no going back, “and he loves you. Why exactly are you sitting in your parents’ house all depressed? Why aren’t you snogging your soulmate up and down the country?” Soon he would punch Pucey. Did the bloody git really think it was that easy? And did he really giggle at the incredulous look Marcus shot him?

“Stop laughing, you fucking moron!”, he shouted, “you know I can’t be…snogging – you know. It can’t happen agai…it can’t happen, for fuck’s sake! He’s a Gryffindor, I’m a Slytherin! He’s a bloke! What do you think would happen if people thought I was gay! Did you forget about the Greengrass boy? His soulmate basically had to flee the country after leaving Saint Mungo’s!” Completely unfazed by the sudden outburst, Adrian grinned mischievously and said: “That whole bullshit about houses and parents later, first: Can’t happen _again_? It _did_ happen? What is _it_?”

Marcus would definitely not tell him that. “Come on, tell me. You can punch me in the nose after, if it makes you feel any better!” Fucking Adrian, baiting Marcus. He actually, kind of, maybe, did want to talk about what he considered the best and simultaneously worst moment of his life. _I could obliviate him after,_ he thought. _Who am I kidding. I can’t._ If he hit hard enough? Yeah, that could actually work. Or maybe Pucey obliviated himself afterwards, if he made the story graphic enough.

“It…we…kissed. One time, after he found out I was his…soulmate. And another time because you snogged Bell, actually. And some more the weeks after. And then I broke it off, because – well, you know. And then we kissed again, the day before term ended.” He looked up, but Adrian seemed to know that it wasn’t all. He just sat there expectantly. “And then, that night…we slept with each other.” He had wanted to say “fucked”. But he just couldn’t, fucking Hufflepuff that he was.

Adrian actually squeaked at that. Were they really sitting there like two giggly girls, talking about boys and sex in their jammies? Marcus groaned. That was worse than being a Hufflepuff. Adrian on the other hand really channelled his inner gossip witch, because he stormed on: “Soooo, how was it? Was it your first time? Was it his first time? Uh, it was, wasn’t it? Did you like it?” “What the hell, Adrian?” “Yeah, yeah, just kick me later, too, but talk now!” “No, I won’t bloody tell you anything!” Oh no. He could feel it. He _would_ tell him. Everything.

 

And he did. Even about – his life was over – the crying. And Adrian listened, only stopping him twice from graphic oversharing. After he had gone silent again, Adrian scattered away. _Does he think I’m a pervert now? Groping him if he’s not careful?_ , a panicky voice sounded in Marcus’ head.

“Sorry mate, but I have to tell you", Pucey's voice came from behind a mountain of decorative cushions, "This is the cutest, most moronic and overdramatic soulmate story I’ve ever heard.” “Why on earth are you on the other side of the bed?” “So you can’t strangle me when I call you cute.” “That won’t save you!” But he grinned. He hadn’t felt that light in weeks.

Adrian slowly made his way back: “Okay, now for the bullshit: You know you can’t just end this. Wait, let me finish”, he said earnestly, because Marcus was about to interrupt, “first off: Who cares about houses outside of school? No-fucking-body. Maybe Malfoy, but that’s a whole other story. Second: Well, you _are_ gay. Or bi? Either way, you will never be happy with anybody if you don’t love them. And if you love a guy then you should be with a guy. _Fuck_ your parents. Besides, they are disappointed at any rate, aren’t they? Always have been. You already gave up Quidditch to satisfy them, don’t sacrifice your soulmate.”

Marcus was completely astonished. Not that he agreed with the conclusion - it seemed way too easy - but Adrian had managed to completely nail the parents-thing.

For years and years Marcus had thought the anger, the outbursts, the blackout-rages were just part of his personality. Or _were_ his personality. After all, for as long as he remembered, they had been there. Sometimes more prominent, sometimes just lingering in the shadows, but always there to provide him with an exit when everything went to hell once again. It was only in those last couple of months that he had made acquaintance with the other Marcus, the one Oliver had seen in him right away. The one that was never enough for his father.

Adrian was right: No matter what Marcus did, his parents would always be disappointed. They had wished for a pureblood prince, a Malfoy, regal and bright and eager to please. But they got him, a peasant in comparison, never being able to bring honour to his heritage. He didn’t really hold it against his mother. She was a shy and timid woman, completely dependent on her rich husband. In her own ways, Sue Flint loved her son more than anything and she truly wanted him to be happy. Her only misconception was that _happy_ meant fitting in. Marcus had believed her for so long.

His father on the other hand was just a conservative old prick. In his mind, a child had to obey to earn their parents’ love. Since Marcus had never been good at obeying, Royston Flint started to punish rather than encourage.

It was ironic that his parents themselves were mediocre at best. Once the name Flint had meant power. But the ruthless rulers from back then had long since turned into middleclass ministry workers with just enough money to uphold the grand exterior. If they hadn’t clung to the idea of reviving the past, they might have discovered something new and better. Their own niche, something to be proud of.

Marcus father had called him a _gardener_ , with a derisive tone. But wasn’t it better to be a great gardener, a passionate master of his art – however common it might look – than to grind at the ministry every day for the rest of his life, just to be _alright_?

Marcus wanted to be more than just _alright_. Even if it meant being a _disgrace_ to his father.

Filled with more energy than ever, he jumped up: “You’re right! You’re completely right! God, was I stupid! I have to change that!” Adrian looked way too excited. “Finally! You’re going to him? Wanna take the floo?” “What?”, Marcus looked confused: “No, not about Wood. About my parents! I’m going to move out – my grandpa has left me some money – and I’m not going to work at the awful ministry!” “Wh…what? Nooo, that’s not what I meant at all! Work at the fucking ministry but go to Wood!”

Marcus looked determined. “No, Adrian. It would never work out, Oliver is way too good for me. Hell, it took me eighteen years to stand up for myself even once! And he wouldn’t be save with me.” Pucey seemed close to a nervous breakdown. He raked his hands through his hair and – by the looks of it – considered _smacking_ sense into Marcus. “You incredible moron! You imbecile! This guy made _you_ , Marcus Flint, king of grunts and punches, _cry_! You let him actually. Fuck. You. With. His. Penis. You are living proof that the soulmate system works! Plus there are about one thousand ways to ensure none of you ends up in Saint Mungo’s! Oh god, you’re really not going to tell him. You’re really letting the love of your life slip between your fingers. I’m more disappointed than your parents have ever been.”


	10. IT WILL BE GOOD, SAYS MARCUS

 

That might have been physically impossible though, because the look on his parents’ faces when he told them the news was positively murderous.

The morning hadn’t started off great. Adrian was gone for two days when Marcus entered the Salon only to find his mother sitting at the table, a folded parchment in front of her. Father was walking circles behind her, fuming. They had clearly waited for him.

“You failed your transfiguration N.E.W.T, honey”, his mother said in a voice that was fit for a child’s eulogy. “Oh”, was everything Marcus managed to answer. His father was immediately up in his face, gesturing wildly to express his deep disappointment. After half an hour – that felt like two days at least – his parents exchanged a stern nod and said somewhat calmly: “While it is not ideal, we actually expected some blunder on your behalf and have taken precautions. The entry level job at the ministry is reserved for another year, you can just go back to Hogwarts and do better this time. I will send in an owl right away.”

Flint senior started to get up, but Marcus, bracing himself, interrupted: “I won’t. I won’t go back to Hogwarts.” “What?”, his mother squealed. “Didn’t you do enough damage already?”, Flint senior growled. But Marcus would not budge. Clenching his jaw he waited for the shouting to be over. Only one conversation, then he could leave. “I am totally satisfied with my Herbology, Care of Magical Creatures and Potions N.E.W.T.s and I won’t go back for another year to study for a subject I hate, to qualify for a job I don’t want. I will –“, his voice threatened to crack and he swallowed loudly, “move out. And find a job on my own. In Quidditch.”

They both gaped at him. His mother seemed on the verge of tears. His father, meanwhile – started to laugh. Taunting, scornful, cold laughter showered Marcus. It drenched him in all the self-consciousness he had fought with for years. He wasn’t even worth a serious reaction.

Forcing himself out of the paralyses he felt, Marcus turned around and left the salon. He stormed up into his room. Just make it out.

The trunk was already loaded, a room in the leaky cauldron booked. A bag full of galleons rested on top of his robes. Only one thing was left to pack. Out of the darkest corner of his closet he retrieved a Hogwarts cloak, the little name tag on the inside declaring it as Oliver Wood’s. Marcus had saved it for last so it would be securely hidden if his parents had found the trunk too soon. Now he bundled it up and smelled it, feeling calmer as soon as the familiar scent hit him. He stowed it away and was ready. No, one more thing, he thought.

He opened the wristband of his watch and lay it onto his desk. No more boars butting their heads. Then he took the lesser used backdoor and disapparated.

 

Three weeks later he moved into a little flat above a dingy pub in Montrose.

He spent his first evening looking out of his window at the port. Old fishermen, bulky sailers, traders, all were crammed into the pub. It smelled like salt and fish and old smoke. Marcus knew that probably all of the pub goers were muggles, but they seemed to be his kind of crowd. He would go down there next weekend, drinking in relative silence, talking about sports – not Quidditch, though – and maybe fighting some strangers later on. Or he would meet with his new team and celebrate his first week? Either way, he was happy. No ministry.

The next morning, he awoke way too early, excited and a little anxious. The fishing boats left the harbour as he was brushing his crooked teeth. He forced down a couple of buttered toasts as a knock on the door made him flinch.

He opened and looked into the weatherbeaten face of Charlie Weasley. “Charlie! You made it!”, Marcus exclaimed. The dragon researcher grinned and strode into the apartment, looking around curiously: “Of course, wouldn’t miss your first day. And since I helped you get it…thought you might show your appreciation and invite me for lunch after.” Marcus was indeed tremendously grateful for everything he had done.

After moving out of his parents’ residence he had had no idea what to do. He knew that he wanted to play Quidditch, but how would he make that a reality? Just go around the teams with a quaffle and show them? So he had written to Weasley, who was once rumoured to play professionally and knew his way around the league. Being the heroic Gryffindor that he was, Charlie immediately rose up to the challenge and a week later had arranged an audition with the Montrose Magpies. They were in need of a new chaser and had already heard of Marcus.

“How do you know about my games?”, he had asked during the interview part, as McLeod, the manager, commented on one of his best moves in a game last year. “Oh, we watch them, of course. All the teams do it, whenever they scout for new talents. And you seemed like a great captain and even better chaser!” Marcus stared at them, he had never thought he was being watched by professionals. “Little aggressive.”, McLeod had added. “We actually tried to win you for the team after you left school”, Ridgewell Hawkes, the team captain, had said, “but your parents told us off. Thought you started at the ministry.” “Right, the ministry”, Marcus had growled. “Lucky for us you seem to have a different opinion”, McLeod had beamed.

They made their way to the training pitch. A light drizzle accompanied them. “So er…congratulations! On your new job, I mean. I honestly thought you would let your parents guide you straight into office hell.” Marcus frowned slightly. He would have, if it hadn’t been for Adrian. “Thanks, Charlie. Really, thank you. I’ll make it up to you: How ‘bout you order whatever you want in the dirty pub when we’re back?” They chuckled and walked a couple of minutes in silence. Marcus could feel the lingering tension of an unspoken conversation.

Finally, Charlie coughed again and asked: “What happened to your soulmate thing? Your last letter…I got the feeling that something had happened?” “It’s nothing, Charlie, don’t worry. There was a little drama, but it’s …over now.” Charlie raised an eyebrow but didn’t poke him further. They could already see the pitch, decorated with Magpie flags flapping in the wind, when Charlie stopped and turned towards Marcus: “Look, I know it’s none of my business. It’s _your_ soulmate and if you don’t want to have a relationship with Ol…with him – don’t. But if this is something you’re just afraid of, because you don’t want anyone to know you’re gay, get over yourself. As cruel as it may be, this won’t stay a secret forever. People will find out eventually. And to lose your soulmate over it might not be worth it. I –“, he hesitated, unsure whether to continue, “I have no mark. No soulmate. I know what it’s like to live without that someone who just gets you. Not that I hate my life or anything, but well…I definitely understand the worth that marking of yours has. Don’t waste it.”

Marcus had no time to be offended, because they were greeted by the whole team now and Charlie was escorted away to watch from the ranks. But while Marcus was changing – for the first time – into his black and white robes, he played the conversation back in his head. It was kind of depressing to know Charlie had no soulmate. _I thought he just wanted to be alone_. His outside friend was in fact one of the reasons he had disposed of the whole concept in the first place.

And then another snippet made him freeze. _“If you don’t want a relationship with Ol…him”_ With _Ol_? Had he meant to say _Oliver_? _Oh god, he knows!_  Or was it just a slip of his tongue? _And what does he mean, it won’t stay a secret forever?_ He would sure as hell not tell anyone. And Charlie and Adrian neither, he trusted them. What could it be then? Maybe he gave off some kind of queer vibe?

Marcus looked into the mirror above the sinks. Black hair, wet from the rain. Bulky build, broad shoulders, stout hands. And a face that was once described as “trollish” by some Gryffindors. He didn’t think he looked like a troll, at least not when he wasn’t fuming. Maybe it was his teeth, they were definitely crooked. Over all, he looked more like the type of person that beat up gay couples for kissing in public, not like the type that did the kissing. None the wiser, he exited the locker rooms and finally, finally got to play.

 

Marcus first game, a friendly charity match between the Magpies and the Kenmare Kestrels one week later, ended in the infirmary after ten minutes of playing. Kind of like his fist ever Quidditch match at Hogwarts.

As he came to in a sterile white room, his whole face felt numb. A very large wizard was prodding him with a thick wand. “Wha’ habbend?”, Marcus tried to ask. “Bludger to the face”, the big guy – he now recognized it was the team healer – said evenly. “I’m almost done here, the swelling is going down already.” Marcus touched his face and felt puffy lips reducing rapidly to their normal size. “Bib we win?” The healer stifled a laugh and shook his head: “You players are all the same. Smashed skull but your only concern is the outcome of a bloody charity match.” And after an imploring look out of swollen eyes, he added: “Yes, you won. 210 – 180. Happy? Now, one last thing: The bludger smashed all your teeth and I have to regrow them, any requests? And please don’t say fangs.”

Marcus let his tongue feel around inside his mouth. Everything was smooth and very weird. _Well, I had to jinx it. Now I look like a troll,_ he thought with a resigned sigh. He was about to let the healer just regrow his old teeth – he really didn’t care about their appearance and they had served him just fine – but something held him back. Wouldn’t hurt to make them prettier, would it? For like, the posters they would print of him in the future. Once he had learned to stay on his broom. He would become a good looking, successful player on the national team. Respectable. Someone who deserved…no. No. No. No. He would not get shiny white teeth to impress a certain Gryffindor captain. But he definitely would get shiny white teeth. For completely different reasons.

 

School had started again, but Marcus didn’t think about Hogwarts too much. He had found real friends on the team, most notably the two beaters, Nigel and Fionulla. Fionulla was the most impressive woman he had ever met and he told her that at least twenty times the first night they went to the pub together and after she drank him under the table. Her cousin Nigel looked exactly like her, just with the addition of a glorious red beard, and helped Marcus punch a rude Hooligan on their way home. It bonded them in no time.

The whole team also held more civilised monthly gatherings at the captain’s cottage, where they ate together and tried to limit their Quidditch talk to a minimum, as partners were invited. Marcus met Fionulla’s wife, a dainty dark-skinned woman who made the most vulgar jokes he had ever heard. He exchanged a shocked look with Nigel – who was thankfully single – and took a large gulp of butterbeer.

It felt like home, except for that tiny little sting he noticed when he looked around all the happy couples and thought about his empty flat.

As winter drew closer, McLeod approached him one afternoon after a rather unpleasant training in cold winds. “Remember how I told you the teams were always scouting for new players?” Marcus nodded. “Well, Puddlemere just lost its keeper and Pride of Portree needs a reserve seeker – you know, after that last match where the chasers had to catch the snitch because Pritchard…well, you get it.” Marcus nodded again, but his insides started to twist. “They are going to watch the first match at Hogwarts this weekend and asked if you would join them? Apparently Charlie Weasley recommended you. And you know all the players, you would be of great help! So, what do you say?” Marcus did not want to. But he should. He couldn’t let Charlie down. He fumbled at a hole in his jumper, indecisive. “Erm…okay, sure. Will do.” “Great!” McLeod really beamed a lot, “just make sure they’re not too good!” He winked at Marcus.


	11. it is what it is, says love

On Saturday morning, Marcus changed his clothes four times.

He styled his hair for half an hour, just to be mad at it afterwards. He brushed his new straight teeth with unhealthy focus. He made himself toast and beans, then put the plate out on the window ledge for the magpies and drank three glasses of water instead. Caffeine wouldn’t do him any favour. While he waited for the clock to reach nine o’clock he went to pee thrice, once for each glass of water.

At five to nine he was sweaty, furious and about to faint. As he considered faking some severe illness to avoid the match, somebody knocked at the door. An excuse! He prayed for an emergency team meeting or at least some really persistent Mormon missionaries as he opened. It was the exact opposite of an excuse. Charlie grinned at him, Pucey – _Pucey?_ – at his side.“What the…what the hell are you doing here?”

“Coming to get you. To the match? Remember the match?”, Adrian inquired snickeringly. “Oh, I’m sure he remembers”, Charlie said. _This can’t be happening,_ a panicked voice sounded in Marcus’ head. What were they trying to do? How did they even _know_ each other, for fucks sake? At the same time, he knew there was no escaping this. He just had to get through with it. Two hours tops, then he could go to the pub until he blacked out. _Solid plan,_ he thought. Alas, the other men looked like they had a solid plan themselves.

They apparated at the gates of Hogwarts – Marcus was tempted to just disapparate to the outer Hebrides and start a new life but feared splintering himself into a thousand pieces – and made their way up towards the pitch. Marcus still had about a million questions buzzing around in his brain. But he knew he wouldn’t like any of the answers, so he didn’t ask. He just trotted along, balling his fists every time they shot each other a knowing look.

They met with the captains of Puddlemere United and Pride of Portree behind the towering ranks. Both were happy to have Marcus as an advisor. “Yeah, he knows those players _really well_ , you can count on his verdict.”, Charlie said sheepishly. Marcus shoved him on the way up to their seats. The sky clouded up and as the whole school poured out of the castle it began to rain. “Good for us, they won’t recognise us with the umbrellas”, the Puddlemere captain mumbled.

Marcus, who had temporarily forgotten his anxiety because he was busy wishing horrible deaths to Pucey and Weasley now felt his pulse speed up again. _Calm down,_ he urged himself, _nothing is going to happen. You will watch the game, you won’t talk to anyone, no one will even know you’re here._ His calming process – albeit futile – was interrupted by a conversation between his two former friends gone mortal enemies.

“You played seeker for Gryffindor, right?”, Pucey asked Weasley. “Yeah, for three years. It was great. Still itches me when I see a match.” “Have you played with any of the current members?”, the Portree captain weighed in. “Ah yeah, Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff today, isn’t it?” “Versus Slytherin”, interrupted Marcus, almost against his will. “Oh no, they changed it to Hufflepuff. Something about an injured seeker, I think.” Marcus growled “Malfoy, typically.” He exchanged a dark glance with Pucey, then remembered that he hated the git and immediately stopped.

“I don’t know anyone on the Hufflepuff team, at least not well. I hear their captain, Diggory something, makes for a good seeker though. And the Gryffindors – well, my younger twin brothers are the beaters, but you’re not out of those. And they’re only in their fifth year, anyways. Potter is an excellent seeker, also way too young. That leaves Oliver Wood.” Marcus focused his eyes on the incoming students, trying not to listen. “I gave him the position as keeper. He’s the one you want, I promise you that.”

The Puddlemere captain turned around to Marcus and he had to give up his genius strategy of not listening: “What do you think? You played opposite Oliver Wood for quite some time, is he any good?” If he sprang down the ranks now, he could be dead in just five seconds. Digging deep for the most flat, professional voice he could find, Marcus answered: “He’s an excellent keeper. Gave me a really hard time each match. And he’s fair. I think –“, he swallowed hard, “you would be glad to have him.” Adrian grinned at him. Marcus kicked him in the shin.

“Oliver says the same things about you.”, Charlie said casually, “well, maybe not the stuff about fairness. But he thinks you’ll make a great chaser for the Magpies.” “What? When…how…how do you know that?”, Marcus stammered. The two captains exchanged confused looks. “Well,” Charlie had the nerve to study his fucking fingernails with mild interest as he continued, “We’re friends, we write each other a lot. Not _just_ about Quidditch, of course.” Marcus’ world turned upside down. It hadn’t been an accident, back then at his first day. Charlie bloody Weasley knew. He was going to be sick. As a sadistic backdrop to his complete misery, the conversation about Wood was still going. “…had a really bad time, just a lot going on those last couple of months. But it’s his last year at Hogwarts and his last chance of winning the cup, so I think he’s up for it. We just won’t see it through this storm.”, Weasley explained.

Down on the field, the players had appeared. They were standing in a huddle to understand what Madame Hooch was saying. Small in the distance, his outline blurred from the rain, Marcus saw Oliver Wood clutching his broom. The sight hit him like a bludger to the stomach. _You knew he would be there, get a fucking grip on yourself!_ In addition to his twisting intestines he could now feel a singeing pain on his shoulder.

The marking flared up and he half feared it would burn through his jacket. He could make out every single letter of the unchanged exclamation, as if the proximity to its counterpart was exciting it. _You can call Nigel and get into a drunk scuffle, just make it through the match._ But – hadn’t he suffered enough for one lifetime – at the same moment he saw the small figure on the pitch suddenly grab his ribs.

Wood turned around, searching the ranks. Marcus was too mesmerized by the glistening face, water pouring down the jaw, to sense the danger. Before he could avert his eyes and hide behind the large umbrella, Wood found him. Stared at him. Adrian and Charlie seemed not to breathe. Marcus finally came to his senses and turned away. “The hell are you doing?”, hissed Adrian. “What the hell are _you_ two doing?”, Marcus hissed right back. Fury and desperation were fighting inside him, but the two captains were with them so he couldn’t act on either.

The players rose into the air. Marcus watched as if from afar. The game was played in the most ferocious weather conditions he had ever seen. Maybe the Slytherin strategy wasn’t stupid after all. He wondered if he would have encouraged such a blatant lie. Probably. Wood would’ve seen right through it, though. He briefly thought about the possibilities, if he had come back for an eighth year. Would they have returned to their secret meetings in dark corners? Or would he have shown enough decency to stay true to his words? He liked to think that he would. He undoubtedly didn’t want to hurt Oliver even more, but seeing him every day would’ve been hard. Thank god he didn’t return.

The game was paused for a couple of minutes. Every inch of Marcus was soaked in cold rain. He did not ask for an enchanted umbrella.

The others used the recess to discuss going down after the game and talking to the players directly, for the storm was too heavy to observe anything. “I won’t join you. I have another…appointment, sorry.”, Marcus said flatly. He didn’t have to mention that his appointment was a bottle of firewhiskey. Charlie raised an eyebrow but refrained from commenting. At least he was raining on their parade, too.

The game continued, Wood guarding his goals without ever looking at Marcus. Marcus found himself almost praying that Gryffindor would win. _Come on, Potter, he needs this._ And then, Potter sped up. Diggory apparently had noticed the ball as well, because he immediately followed. Marcus balled his hands into fists, forcing the Gryffindor seeker forward with his mind. They were close. Potter would make it. Just a couple more inches!

A sudden cold clutched at his chest. What was happening? The sky darkened even more as a hundred dementors floated over the opposite ranks.

Marcus could feel his throat close up, rain like ice on his skin. Unwanted pictures flooded his numb brain. _Oliver pulling away from him. Oliver pleading him. Oliver’s hunched back at the Gryffindor table. Oliver crying on top of him in the dark shed. The locker room door closing._ And then nothing. Darkness, silence, emptiness. He was on the verge of drowning in it when a slap hit his face and he flinched. Thick raindrops fell into his eyes and the wet wooden floor soaked his back.

Adrian kneeled in front of him, slightly green, his hand still outstretched. “Is everything okay? You…fainted, I think.” The low voice was full of concern. “What happened?”, Marcus panted, trying to sit up. “Dementors, loads of them.”, Charlie filled him in, “Potter fell. Dumbledore made them leave.” The usually strong man looked rather unsteady. Reality finally caught up with Marcus. His darkest memories - loosing his soulmate. 

He jumped up, startling everyone around him. Before they could hold him back, Marcus leapt over the ranks and reached the stairs. His heart hammered in time to his steps. He hit the bottom of the stairs and stumbled onto the pitch, not even stopping to steady himself. He just kept running, water splashing from the ground, rain hitting his face, until he arrived at the middle of the field, where the players were huddled together and Diggory argued with Madam Hooch. Students stood around, talking over each other, trying to make sense of the situation. Marcus didn’t notice them. His eyes found Wood, standing next to Diggory, listening to the discussion without interest. With those fucking resigned shoulders again.

Now the students started recognising him, probably because he was not wearing a cloak or because he was storming into their midst like a bloody maniac. He couldn’t care less. Trying to calm his breath he kept moving forward. Wood was only a few feet away. Marcus' feet stumbled. _What the hell am I doing? I don’t even have a plan! Merlin, I haven’t even a pla!_ It was too late. He skidded to a halt – the muddy ground did not make him any more graceful – and his soulmate finally looked up.

Oliver’s eyes widened as he saw him, but whether with surprise or disgust, Marcus couldn’t tell. And it didn’t matter anyways. It was time to be a Gryffindor.

“I love you!”, Marcus blurted out, way too loud. The students around them started to whisper and giggle. He was still just a stupid Hufflepuff, wasn’t he? “What?”, Oliver croaked. “I love you. And I was stupid and afraid and thought that I could just push it aside, but…but…” Words failed him. “Fuck it.”

And he made one final stride, clutched Oliver’s collar and kissed him. For a second, nothing happened. Then Oliver parted his lips and kissed him back. It was wet and cold and familiar and the best thing to ever happen. They pulled apart after a while and Marcus said: “I’m sorry. I am _so_ so sorry. I was the worst soulmate ever. I should have known. Can you ever forgive me?”

Oliver smiled at him: “Should have bought you R _elationships for Dummies_ , hm? Yes, stupid, I forgive you.” Marcus was fairly certain that he wasn’t crying _again_ , after all it rained really hard. He hugged Oliver tightly, then – he would only be allowed to wear yellow from now on – planted a soft kiss on his forehead. “I love you too, by the way.”, Oliver whispered into his ear, “but your new teeth are weird. Way too straight.”

Someone behind them giggled. Turning around, they saw Adrian and Charlie, standing on the pitch like two proud mama hens with an expression of utter joy on their faces. Marcus, swallowing down the urge to steal a beater’s bat and kill them, sighed and reached out to take Oliver’s hand in his own.

God it felt good to be a Hufflepuff.


	12. what is it going to be?, asks the author

Aaaw, so much fluff. Or not enough fluff?

I really don't know what to do from here on and might need your help.  
The options - as far as I see, if you have a better suggestion please tell me! - are:

A) Leave it at that. It's already soppy enough.  
B) Write an epilogue, exploring the near or far future in a short chapter.  
C) Be disgusted by that much harmony and write a whole other part about their future (Rise of the Dark Lord, families on different sides and most importantly more Charlie time)  
D) Stop fucking posting fan fiction and go write your master's thesis!

 

What do you think?

xoxo Gry

 

Sooo, now that my thesis is done I can think about adding some unnecessary plot.  
I actually thought about a couple more chapters as kind of a part 2 - that could also be read as a stand alone storyline - to explore their relationship through the war, facing their families, maybe thinking about having their own family and so on.  
Since I don't have to procrastinate that hard anymore it might take a little longer. Suggestions are very welcome! :)

Chapter One of Part Two is out! It is set a couple months after the story picks up, we'll jump back in Chapter Two. And it will of course have a happy ending!  
I'm trying to publish one chapter every week (my master's thesis is done but now I'm planning my fucking wedding, so we'll see how it goes. At least I can use first hand experience when it comes to Marcus' and Oliver's big day)

Have fun!


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